


(And When You Drown) Take Your Demons With You

by aewea



Series: Lose Me In A Crowd [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Attempt at Humor, Avengers Family, BAMF Peter Parker, Canon?, Developing Friendships, Domestic Avengers, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heartbreaking angst and adorable fluff, Homeless Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, It's about damn time she becomes a mama spider, Kidnapping, Like I'm srs this doesn't follow canon, Mental Breakdown, Nightmares, No more aunt Tasha, Or venom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Child Abuse, Past attempted sexual assault, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker uses poison, Peter's foster family being giant assholes, Poison, Precious Peter Parker, Rape/Non-con Elements, Running Away, SCREW LOGIC I DO WHAT I WANT, Starvation, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Violence, What's That?, but heavy angst, never heard of her, temporary paralysis, whatever floats your boat dude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-05-26 11:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14999525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewea/pseuds/aewea
Summary: After two years of living in the streets, Peter Parker Sympathizes with thieves.Spiderman still stops them.Orthat one story where Peter is a homeless kid who can stick to walls and all that, but his real super power is the adorable smile that makes people want to protect him.





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> It’s the middle of the night, and I’m a creature of too much tea and regret, but enjoy this crappy homeless peter fic I started on a whim.  
> Hope you all like this, and I will consider whether to write more or just get rid of it depending on the reaction this gets. So please, if you decide that you may like to read more of this, leave a comment and tell me?  
> Enjoy

_Go out Bruce_ , they said. _It will be fun_ , they said. _Nothing bad’s gonna happen_ , they said.

Well, they got one thing right. Because this? This isn’t bad, this is a _disaster_.

Why? Well for starters, Bruce is running, which itself is an awful thing because Bruce isn’t much of the running type (He prefers sciencing, _thank you very much_.) But that’s not even the worst part, because not only is he forced to run, he is also being _chased_ , and not in the fun ‘playing tag’ sense of the word either, but in the ‘we’re-a-group-of-villains with-questionable-senses-of-fashion-and-we-wanna-kill-you’ sort of way.

If this was a movie, now would be the time when the frame froze and the famous ‘Yep, that’s me, you’re probably wondering how I got into this mess’ line came up. Unfortunately, this isn’t a movie, which means that Bruce doesn’t have the fortune of time freezing while he does a flashback and has to in fact do it all while running for dear life.

‘ _Yep, that’s me_ ,’ Bruce thinks bitterly while he passes one of the security cameras on the street, glaring hard and hoping the avengers are watching this right now so they can feel the sheer _loathing_ in his gaze. Very unlikely, but pretending makes him feel better. ‘ _Let me tell you how I got into this freaking mess._ ’

_“Come on Bruce,” Tony says as he pushes the unwilling scientist toward the elevator, the doors already opening to let him in, “You can’t just lock yourself in your lab all the time! Go out and have some fun, feed the ducks or something, use your hours of freedom to escape this terrible ‘organic-food’ zone and buy some greasy snacks.” He leans down, whispering in his ear, “And then try to sneak some in for me without Cap noticing as well, would you? He keeps confiscating my junk food. Says I have to eat **healthy** ,” He mutters, making an over-exaggerated disgusted face, “But he won’t think to search you. So just go to a supermarket or something and get me some snacks, Okay?” _

_“But Tony…” Bruce tries to protest, “What if…”_

_“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Tony says impatiently, rushing him forward, “you’re just going to supermarket and back, what are the chances of someone attacking you?”_

Well, judging by the group of villain currently chasing Bruce, he’d say the chances are rather high.

“Oh my god,” he moans as he runs for- well, not _his_ life, but the life of those around him. The men following him have already pulled out what he’s 99 percent sure are guns, and he’s still in the middle of a crowded street with people stupid enough to stand and gape at him instead of running for their lives, because, _hello, Hulk here!_

After this is over, Bruce is going to _kill_ Tony, and he isn’t even going to Hulk out; Oh no, he’s going to chock him with his _bare hands_. 

(Or maybe he’ll just sit on him and eat all the junk food by himself while Tony cries and begs on the floor. That seems like a good plan as well. )

The first shot snaps him out of his thoughts, and he has to fight down both panic and the green beast as he takes a sharp turn into one of the darker alleys around. Bruce is by no means a physical man –well, at least, his calmer, not-green self isn’t- and he knows better than to try and run from a bunch of obviously trained men with guns in a public place where not only can they easily shoot him and hit the target, but can also miss and hurt the innocents around. Besides, he’s already beginning to tire, his breath coming in short, quick pants and his knees shaking under his weight. He won’t be able to run for much longer.

So, the scientist does the reasonable thing and tries to get as far away from the public as he can before he’s cornered. There’s no hope of making it to the avengers before the men catch up to him since he panicked and ran in the opposite direction of the tower when he first spotted the group and is now pretty far from home; so the best he can hope for is losing his tails when he runs in the maze of the backstreets and narrow alleys of NY, and sinks deeper and deeper into the darker and more questionable parts of the city.

By the time he remembers that he’s an unfamiliar with this districts as the ones he’s trying to lose, it’s already too late to turn around, and he’s trapped in a dark and dirty dead-end with nowhere to go and footsteps that keep getting closer and closer.

He takes a step back, and flinches when his back his the wall. He takes a quick look around, desperately searching for an escape route. By the looks of things, he’s out of luck. The only things in the alley are a couple of torn trash bags and a half-blind street cat that screeches and runs away as soon as it sees Bruce; so unless he starts throwing rotten fruit and empty tin cans at his pursuers, there’s nothing of use. He’s officially cornered and there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, and by this point his skin is more green than white, and he no longer can fight back the panic that’s spreadi-

Suddenly out of nowhere, a hand shots out and covers his mouth, another grabbing his arm and dragging him back. He struggles, trying to bite the hand, but his kidnapper just groans and shoves him in a tight spot before following himself. “Be quiet,” the kidnapper –is it a guy? Bruce isn’t sure. The voice is far too high to be a man’s, but the body pressing him into the wall clearly lacks the curves of a woman’s- hisses at him, still not removing the hand from his mouth, “Do you want them to find us?!”

The high pitched voice surprises Bruce, helps him fight down the green showing up on his skin and shocks him enough that he stops struggling. He takes a deep breath, leaning back on the wall and examining his surroundings as he hears the footsteps run past and then stop. He turns his head at the direction of the sound, keeping his breath as he peeks from the opening in the wall and sees the men searching for him.

Bruce notices that he’s still in the same dead-end, hidden in a small, narrow space between two of the walls. It’s a pretty good hiding place, if a little crowded. It’s only just big enough for him and his mysterious kidnapper to squeeze into and its entrance is hidden from sight due to the slightly tilted brick wall at the end of the alley and the way the trash bags are placed.

The men look around for a while, seemingly confused with his disappearance. Bruce notices his rescuer –because it’s probably rude to keep calling him a kidnaper when the guy has just saved his butt- crouch down and pick up a tin cane from the ground. He’s about to hiss at him to stay still before someone notices them when the guy lifts his arms and throws the tin so far it lands about twenty meters away from the wall. The men snap to attention at that, one of them shouting orders in a strange language as they go running back the way they came.

They stay still for a while, listening for the footsteps to fade, and then the mysterious guy jumps back, exiting the hiding place easily and then turning to give the scientist a hand (Who, to his embarrassment, has far more trouble getting past the tight gap). Bruce follows the guy out with a gasp, panic still clutching at every fiber of his being and skin still colored with a tinge of green, but much more under control than a moment ago. He puts his hands on the wall, catching his breath and focusing on calming himself. That was close. He’s never leaving the tower to get Tony snacks again.

“Dr. Banner!” The stranger exclaims, his voice snapping the other out of his thoughts, “You’re Dr. Banner, right? Sir I’m such a huge fan! Your work on Gamma radiations was truly fantastic! The theo-“

Bruce stops listening, staring in shock at the guy as he keeps ranting about his work and how amazing his last new paper on god-knows-what was. Any other time, he’d be pleased to see someone who appreciates his achievements more than his part-time job as a green beast; but right now he’s too busy staring at the kid who just saved his life. 

He’s young. Certainly no older than fifteen and maybe even younger. He’s much too short and far too thin for it to be healthy, and is clad in dirty and baggy clothes. Bruce knows for a fact that he’s much stronger than his small figure suggests, considering he was being dragged around by the same tiny teenager only minutes ago, but he can’t help but notice how fragile and small he looks. It’s hard not to, especially when the kid is swimming in a jacket three sizes too big for him and has a deep, nasty bruise on his jaw.

The guy stops mid-sentence when he notices Bruce staring, a light blush covering his cheeks, “Oh my go- I didn’t hurt you, did I? I didn’t mean to push you around like that, I was- I was just trying to get you to safety and I didn’t stop to think it through! I’m glad that you didn’t hulk out on me though- Not that I don’t like hulk, I mean he’s cool, but I don’t like being smashed to death, you know? And anyway you seem so much nicer and smarter and- god I’m rambling again, aren’t I?“ He stops to take a deep breath, sticking out a hand with a shy smile, “It’s an honor to meet you Dr. Banner. I’m Peter.”

Bruce only stares some more, still too shocked after everything to react. The kid’s face falls when Bruce doesn’t say anything, and he snatches his hand back as if burned. “I’m such an idiot.” He mumbles to himself, trying to hide his dirty hand in his pocket, then louder he says “Sorry sir I just got excited and forgot about the-“ He shrugs, looking embarrassed as he plays with a lock of his long hair. “Just- just follow me. I’ll take you to the main street.”

He half turns to go, face red and eyes cast downward.

“Bruce Banner,” Bruce says automatically.

The kid blinks, “What?”

“That’s- Um, that’s my name,” the scientist stutters, pointing to himself. “Though you already know that… anyway, It’s- Um, It’s nice to meet you Peter. And- and I’m glad Hulk didn’t smash you too. ” He adds, holding out a hand.

Peter’s whole face lights up, his brown eyes widening with joy. He grabs the offered hand and shacks it enthusiastically, smiling all the while.

“Thank you Dr. Banner,” He says happily, “I’m so-“ a loud ‘clank’ from the other side of the wall cuts him off, and Peter freezes, stealing a glance at where the noise came from.

“Follow me Dr. Banner.” He whispers lowly, all traces of lightheartedness gone, “It’s dangerous to wander around here for long. Stay close to me and I’ll take you back to the avengers’ tower.”

With that, he turns to go, hesitating only a second before he grabs onto Bruce’s arm and drags him along.

Peter drags him through narrow streets and dim passages alike, passing dank alleys full of shady people who stare at them unnervingly as they pass. Bruce feels panic once again began to fill his chest when they pass a particularly dark path crowded by shadows hiding in the corner.

Bruce can say in a glance that this is much worse than the other places they passed in the way. The whole alley smells of alcohol and drugs, and the air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the taste of vomit. He has to watch where he steps as to not put his put his foot inside the suspicious puddles on the ground, and also keep his mind away from trying to guess the contents the said puddles hold.

All around the place, there are men and women sprawled on the ground. They’re badly dressed and dirty, and all thin and pale; but there’s something different about them, something that sets off alarm bells in Bruce’s already frantic mind and warns him that these are not like the other homeless people they came across in the way, but something darker, something fouler.   

These aren’t men looking for a place to stay the night, but thieves and dealers instead, and not the sort that gets involved with crime because they have to either. They are the kind that likes spreading fear and inflicting pain, the kind that takes pride in cruelty and enjoys being wicked.

Bruce knows he must seem like easy bait with his well-worn but expensive shoes –curtesy of Tony- and clearly new coat, and is expecting one of them to jump out with a knife and threaten him any second now. It almost does happen, with people who get close enough for him to see the flash of greed and hatred in their eyes, and Bruce has to bite his lip to keep calm and not let his other half come out.

But the weird thing is, it never gets to that stage because as soon as they catch sight of peter, they quickly scrambles back to the shadows, muttering things like ‘Thought this wasn’t his district’ or ‘What the fuck is the brat doing here?’ under their breath.

Peter doesn’t react in any unusual way, and only turns to give him a small apologetic smile before quickening their pace; but Bruce can’t help but stare as this small teenager with his oversized dirty clothes and kind brown eyes scares off thugs three time his size with nothing but a look.

He doesn’t get what about Peter scares them so. The teenager looks more non-threating than even Bruce and the scientist’s been told he looks like a soft giant teddy beer. Now, he knows all about not judging a book by its cover and all that, but it’s just… the kid is so small and thin, it’s ridiculous that anyone would see him as a threat, let alone be scared of him. He looks like a normal teenager, if dressed in old and torn clothes that are far too large for his skinny frame and with hair that is a little too long and disheveled. He’s clearly a homeless kid, running from CPS most likely, and it concerns Bruce greatly to see him find his way through the maze of the dark backstreets of NY like he knows it. Like its home. Yeah, the bruises on his skin and the thinness of his arms are worrisome, but perhaps the most heartbreaking thing is the kid is too young to have any business in such shady parts of the city, and he still walks like he belongs.

“We’re here!” Peter’s cheerful voice announces and Bruce looks up to see that they’ve reached the main street while he was lost in thoughts. “Well, it was an honor Dr. Banner, I mean really, how many people can say that they ran into _the_ Bruce Banner while hiding from the co-“ He cuts himself off with a cough, looking away from the scientist, “anyway, we’re, Um, we’re here.” He repeats awkwardly.

“Oh, Um, ye-yeah,” Bruce stutters, feeling just as awkward, “Peter, I- I don’t know how to- how to thank you but you really- Um, here,” He reaches into his pocket and takes out his wallet clumsily, holding it out to the boy, “Here. Take it. It’s nearly empty because I didn’t think I’d need much for a snack run but- Here. Think of it as my way of- of saying thank you.”

The boy takes a step back, holding up his hands. “Dr. Banner, sir! I can’t accept that! That’s too much! And anyway, I didn’t do much other than to shove you into a gap in the wall and then drag you through one of the worst districts of NY so...” He shrugs, a light blush covering the tips of his ears as the he shuffles his feet in embarrassment.

“But-“

He shacks his head firmly, “I can’t accept your money Dr. Banner.”  

“Then what about something else? like…” Bruce says desperately, looking around for anything he can give to the teen, when he notices the bag of snacks he’s still clutching in his hand. He blinks at it, as if not expecting something as normal as a bag of snacks to still be here after the surreal morning he’s just had. “Here,” He says blankly, holding up the bag of food. “It’s not very healthy but…” He shrugs helplessly.

The kid tiptoes toward him and slowly takes the bag, cautiously peeking inside. His face lights up when he sees the snacks and he quickly clutches it to his chest and takes a step back, as if afraid Bruce might try to snatch it back.

“Thank you sir,” He says with a hesitate smile, and Bruce finds himself smiling back.

“You're welcome.” He says to him, thankfully not tripping over the simple words and making a fool of himself _again_. Seriously, after this day he wouldn’t blame the kid if he decides that Bruce isn’t cool enough and finds a new scientist to geek over. “But are you sure that’s all you need? Maybe if you come with me to tower… Tony would be happy to reward you properly.”

But the kid is already walking away, going backwards as to not turn his back to the scientist and still hanging to the bag of food for dear life, but he smiles and this time his smile is brighter, livelier.

“There’s no need Sir!” He shouts, “Just if you end up with any extra food you didn’t need… well give me a call!”

Bruce is ninety percent sure the kid is joking, but that doesn’t stop the sudden ache in his heart as he thinks of the boy’s skinny arms and hollow cheeks. “But how do I find you?!” He shouts after the boy.

This time, there’s a laugh before the answer comes, “Just get lost in the backstreets again, I’ll find you!”

And with that, Peter is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, how do you like it? Please leave a review and tell me, and don’t be afraid to share any homeless!Peter headcanons you have, cuz I love long comments, and enjoy reading all of your reviews.  
> Just a quick reminder… I have no idea I’m doing with this, and I honestly worked my ass off to write this in the middle of all the work I had, so If you like it and want to see more of it, please please please tell me, If I see that no one cares, well I guess I’ll just delete this or at least not write anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so first of all: I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT.  
> holy shit guys. 500 kudos and 100 bookmarks in onc chapter?? Is this some sort of weird dream? a hallucination? my dad suggested that you guys are liking sth else and it's showing up on my page and honestly by this point I'm not above believing that. anyway I'm really thankful to all of you, and I ask you to plz plz review again and tell me how I did cuz i rly want u guys to like this
> 
> I just hope u like this chap as well.
> 
> Cecil: Blind/dim-sighted 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (btw I changed the tag and deleted relationships so i can add them in order when they happen. they will be added again later. oh maybe and read the tags because of the warnings?)

Peter walks down the empty streets, getting farther and farther away from the main road with each step. The alleys grow narrower and dirtier the more he walks, and the light dims with each passing second, but being afraid of the dark is a privilege only an innocent child can afford, and Peter hasn’t been neither innocent nor a child for a very long time now.

But only because Peter doesn’t allow himself to be afraid, doesn’t mean there aren’t things hiding in the shadows that should be feared, and the teen has been crossing the same dark alleys long enough to know that better that anyone else. So, he walks with his head held high and his face blank, but keeps his eyes sharp and his body tense, because there’s a difference between bravery and stupidity, and peter likes to think that he’s already learned that difference.

And so he walks, and then walks some more till he’s back right where he started, in the dead-end with the hidden hiding place and the torn trash bags, and only then, he allows himself to stop and relax. Because this dead-end might be just as dank and dark as the ones he just passed in the way, but it’s a familiar sort of dark, and familiarity is a rare but welcomed thing to come across when you don’t have a home to return to.

His footsteps echo in the silence of the dead-end, and the cat searching through the trash bags looks up and gives a loud ‘Meow’ when it sees him, running forward to rub its head against his legs. Peter laughs as he crouches done to pet its head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Hello Cecil,” He mutters, “you hungry?”

Cecil lets out another loud Meow and rubs its head against his leg again, so peter decides that the answer is probably yes and starts searching through the bag of food for something he can spare. He knows it’s wasting precious food, but to hell with it, It’s unlikely that he’d starve just because he gave away some of his chicken sandwich anyway. (A voice in the back of his head reminds him that it’s only _unlikely_ , not _impossible_ , but he shoves it back to the back of his head again and ignores it because that’s _exactly_ where it belongs.)

And besides, he likes Cecil. The cat might’ve scratched his face a couple of times, and it’s far from attractive with its dull grey hair and one eye, but it once pushed a half-eaten apple it’d found in the trashcan they were both searching for food toward Peter when he was starving to death, and anyway, it’s been on the streets for longer than even him, so he guesses that it’s probably considered a senior homeless cat and probably deserves some respect (and chicken) from youngsters like peter. (Although Peter isn’t a cat so maybe the rule doesn’t exactly apply to him, but he thinks Cecil would probably be happy to accept him as a honorably cat -kitten?- if it means it gets to eat his food.)

“What do you think Cecil? Should I start calling myself Spider-cat?” Peter asks as he holds out the chicken for the Cecil, and smiles when it grabs the bite and runs away like the devil itself is chasing it. He doesn’t blame the cat. Food is hard to come by, and it’s a constant fight for survival here on the streets, so it’s best to just take what you can and hope someone doesn’t snatch it back from you before you can shove it in your mouth. (And besides, he nearly did the same when Dr. Banner gave him the bag, so it’s not like he can really tal-

“You should’ve accepted that wallet.” A British voice sneers from behind.

Peter slowly gets to his feet, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “Should I have?” He asks evenly, turning to look at the lean figure that emerges from the shadows. It’s a male in his late teens, tall and thin and clad in worn but clean clothes. The newcomer takes a step forward, his unnervingly pale skin glowing in the dim light of the alley and making him look like a ghost straight out of the horror movie collection Aunt May used to hide in the right corner of the bookcase.

 “Yes.” The older boy says simply, glaring at him with piercing ice-blue eyes.

Peter does his best to glare back, he really does, but all of those who have ever gotten into a staring match with Thomas Silver know that it’s an unfairly one-sided competition, and it doesn’t take Peter long to crumble under the weight of the gaze and avert his eyes.

“Thomas-“

“Don’t ‘Thomas’ me,” The other snarls, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “We’re almost entirely out. I have only about five dollars left after you went and somehow tore your suit in _seven_ _different_ _places_ , and there’s just three rolls of bandages left which probably won’t even last till the end of the week.” He starts pacing, voice getting louder and louder with each spoken word, “And then you come across easy money and give it away? Are you crazy boy? You think the ingredients of your idiotic web-fluid grow on trees? I can’t believe you Peter. Such irresponsible behavior, I-“

“-raised me better than this?” Peter suggests jokingly, hoping to calm the other’s rage at least a little bit. The volume is getting a tad too loud, and Peter has a repetition –and a secret identity- to keep. (And really, it might be different wherever Thomas comes from, but here on the streets, being scolded like a three year old that just broke his mother’s favorite vase doesn’t count as badass.)

“…-expected better of you” Thomas finishes, still glaring at him. He lowers his voice though, and gives him an ‘I’m-not-sorry-because-you-deserved-that-but-still’ look.

Peter waves the (not really an) apology off with a shrug, “Did you really?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips because he already knows the answer.

The older teen continues to give him the evil eye for another solid thirty seconds before he visibly deflects, “No, not really,” He sighs, bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, “But one can always hope.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter says as he plops himself down on the ground and empties the bag of snacks in front of him, not sounding very sorry.

“Like hell you are,” Thomas bites out, but his tone is softer, founder, “I still can’t believe you traded a _wallet_ for these though.” He groans, nudging some of the snacks with his foot.

“Well, yes,” Peter says as he picks up each item and considers it for a moment before either putting it on the ground or back in the bag next to the others again, “But at least now we got snacks- oh look! chocolate! Sweet!”

“That’s dark chocolate,” Thomas says blankly, “It’s not sweet.”

“I didn’t mean it lit - never mind, I found caramel. You can have that.”

“Most gracious of you,” Thomas says sarcastically, but it doesn’t escape Peter’s notice that he snatches the chocolate bar and hides it in his pocket. “I truly do not know how to repay such _kindness_ , that is, if you count throwing the things you don’t like at me as kindness.”

“Ouch,” Peter puts a hand on his heart, pretending to be offended, “On another hand, maybe you should cut down on dark chocolate. It’s turning you more bitter than you already are.”

“Oh please,” Thomas says, finally giving in and sitting on the ground next to Peter, “It’s mellowing me out if anything, you should’ve seen me seven years ago.”

“I can’t see anyway that an eleven year old kid could’ve been more bitter than the current you, but I’ll take your word for it.” Peter says as he opens a bag of chips and holds it out to Thomas.

“Oh, believe me,” His friend says dryly, taking one before shoving the bag back to him, “I was much worse.”

And peter doesn’t know what to say to that, because the words themselves aren’t anything to fret about, but there’s a certain edge to the other’s voice that makes him feel uneasy, and suddenly, the conversation doesn’t seem like an easy banter between two friends anymore, but something much more sensitive instead; and they have a very strict rule about emotions and weaknesses not being discussed in the open and under the light of the day, where there are eyes to see the pain and ears to catch the words.

 “What, did you throw tantrums because you hadn’t got what you’d wanted in the middle of Walmart and screamed at your mother that you didn’t love her anymore?” He jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, because he thinks it’s the only safe thing to bet on; because he _knows_ Thomas and knows there’s no way that he used to be anything but polite and charming as a child, but judging by the pained look that crosses over his friend’s face, he couldn’t have been picked a more touchy topic.

“Yeah, something like that,” Thomas grimaces, and they fall in awkward silent for a while till Peter finally decides that enough is enough and throws a sandwich at the other’s head.

It catches the older boy off-guard, hits him right in the face and then falls in his lap, and Peter is already halfway to his feet and ready to run because Thomas is nothing if not big on revenges and seriously peter _was **not** expecting him to be so out of it to actually be hit an- shit there’s the infamous dead-glare. Oh god peter is sooo dead- _ but this time, the other boy doesn’t do more than throwing him a grateful glance before his mask finally slips back in its place and he’s back being to his usual asshole self.

“What’s this?” He asks as he picks up the sandwich, holding it as far away from himself as he can.

Peter is caught between relief from his friend going back to normal and frustration as he watches the familiar ritual go on, -because goddamn it if the princess doesn’t pull off this shit each time they finally get their hands on some food- and somehow manages to settle on fondness.

 “Beef.” he answers, unwrapping his own sandwich.

Thomas makes a face, turning his nose up at the food, “I don’t like beef.”

“Well, that’s all we have.” Peter says with an eye roll, but he can’t help the small smile that pulls at the corner of his lips, “But by all means, please go on and make demands. I’d be happy to go and fetch whatever unbelievably expensive thing you’re craving this time for you, your majesty.”  

“Hm, yes, I think I’m craving a less greasy food along with a side dish of some _respect_.”

“I’ll respect you when you stop complaining about your food like a picky five year old.” Peter shoots back, throwing his wrapping paper at the other’s head.

“And I’ll stop complaining about my food when you stop giving all the chicken to that damn cat!”

Oops, so he saw that.

Peter shrugs guiltily. In his defense, he wasn’t planning to give it _all_ to the cat, but he might’ve felt bad about how skinny it looked so…

And speaking of skinny, there’s Thomas. Thomas who’s talking his sandwich and splitting in two and holding the bigger half toward him because he knows about Peter’s super metabolism and healing factor, and pulls this ‘I don’t like the food’ shit every time so he can pass most of it to Peter. Thomas who’s skinnier than even _him_ , skinny enough in fact, that peter wouldn’t even need his super strength to crush his wrist in one hand and still refuses to eat more than half of his share so peter can eat more. Thomas who thinks Peter doesn’t know all that. Thomas who is an absolute _idiot_.

And peter makes a face and accepts the half sandwich with an offhand ‘Your loss’ because he knows that Thomas is stubborn enough to actually throw it out to make a point –he knows. He has tried refusing before- and also knows that he can eat twice this much and still writhe on the ground in hunger, and feels even more guilty when the older boy give him one of his rare smiles.

So he pretends to be too occupied by his food and bites down into his sandwich hurriedly, taking a couple of chips with his other hand and shoving them into his mouth. He half expects the other to start lecturing him on his table manner, like he usually does every time he feels like Peter isn’t eating like a civilized human being and making a mess out of everything (huh, like that actually matters when they’re literally sitting on the cold hard ground and eating leftovers they found at a trashcan) but there’s no comment as his friend just sits there and stares at him, occasionally taking a bite of his own half-sandwich.

“So,” Peter clears his throat because the silence is becoming too much, too suffocating, “When you said we’re out of money…”

“I did mean it.” Thomas sighs, running a hand through his long dark hair, “There’s exactly five dollars left, you ran out of web fluid a week ago, and we’re supposed to meet your dealer tomorrow-”

 Peter chokes on his food, “Can you- can you not say it like that?” He coughs, “You make me feel like a junky.”

“-and if we can’t make enough money for all the ingredients we won’t see your _dealer_ till at least a week later, so I guess there’s no way left other than to go back to times square station.” He continues as if uninterrupted.

“time square station?” Peter asks, “Why?”

Thomas gives him an ‘are-you-stupid’ look. “ _For sightseeing_. For the same reason we always go there, idiot. So you can jump around like a monkey and have people throw money at you.”

Peter lets out an overly insulted noise, “Okay, first of all, I don’t jump around like a monkey, I do it like a _spider_. A jumping spider to be exact. Like a regular spider, except cooler cuz it can jump. Because I’m spider-man, not monkey-man. Secondly, they don’t _throw_ money at me. They put it into an empty tin can or something. Politely. Because I’m not a stripper. Thirdly, there’s no way we make enough money with that.”

Thomas clearly dismisses the better half of the speech to focus on the real problem, “Yes, we won’t be making enough money with just you. That’s why I’m joining in.”

“That’s not gonna make that much of a difference,” The younger points as he takes a bite out of his sandwich, chewing with his mouth open, “And you can’t do acrobatics.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Thomas snaps automatically, then gives a tired sigh and starts massaging his temple with one hand, “And no, I can’t do acrobatics, that’s why I’m setting up my own show.” He says, pursing his lips together, “I hate to make a fool out of myself, but a couple of tricks wouldn’t hurt. I practiced a little, I’m getting better.”

Peter chocks on his sandwich. _Again_. “Yeah, nope, not happening.”

Thomas scowls, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “And why is that?”

“Because you scare the shit out of everyone!” the brunet cries, throwing his hands in the air.

The scowl gets darker, “Just because those fools can’t appreciate my talen-“

“Last time you pulled out a fist-sized spider out of a little boy’s pocket and he wouldn’t stop crying for half an hour.” The younger boy points out with a blank face.

The other doesn’t seem all that apologetic as he shrugs, “I only did in honor of you.”

“And the time before that,” Peter says, “You threw a rope at a young woman and it turned into a _snake_.”

“That bitch deserved it.”

“The point is,” he continues, ignoring the remark, “No more tricks for you.”

“Fine,” Thomas huffs, “Have fun being spider-man without your webs, because no more web-fluid for _you_.”

The brunet splutters, “But- we still have a little mone-“

“ _Yes_. For _food_. So like I said, no more web fluid till at least two weeks later.”

“ _Fine_.” Peter snaps, “Do your tricks or whatever, but no more spiders, or snakes, or sharks that breathe fire, or any other horrific thing you can come up with. Deal?”

Thomas is about to reply when he suddenly freezes. He snaps his mouth shut and leans back, his posture non-threating and seemingly relaxed, but Peter sees something sharp flash in his eyes as he turns to look at the entrance of the dead-end, “we’ve got company.” He says at the same time Peter’s Spidey-sense starts to tingle.

“Parker!” A voice shouts as heavy footsteps near their location, “We need to talk!”

Peter sighs as he recognizes the voice. Of course, he should’ve expected that.

“Nicholas,” He says in a fake cheerful voice, turning to face the angry man speeding toward them, “Can I help you?”

“Can you help me? Can you help me?! What the fuck were you thinking, prancing about in my streets?! You gave the boys a heart attack!  I didn’t make any money today because those cowards are all clustered together in the safe house, babbling about Parker coming out of his territory to shut them down! No one steps a foot outside in the fear of your righteous ass showing up and dragging them to hell or something! God knows I work with a bunch of morons, but if they’re right about one thing, it’s worrying about you sniffing around.”

“Wow,” Peter says in the flattest voice he can manage, raising his eyebrows, “How rude of me. I had no idea I had such an effect on your boys or I’d have called ahead. It’s just I didn’t think some of New York’s toughest thugs would be afraid of a kid half their size, so…” 

“Cut the bullshit Parker,” Nicholas snaps, “You know your name sends gang members running after what you did to Chris and his boys.”

_As it should._

“Hey now, that didn’t have anything to do with me.” Peter says, holding his hands up in surrender. There’s a hint of smugness in his voice though, and he knows the man can hear it too, “If I recall correctly, they ended up in prison because all of their clients _mysteriously_ turned against them and turned them in.”

“I don’t give a shit about Chris or how you pulled that stunt kid,” Nicholas sneers, “Just keep away from me and what’s mine.”

“That was the plan.” Peter says, and this time, his tone is colder, darker, “But people have been whispering about you guys lately, saying you’re breaking the contract; so I thought it wouldn’t hurt to investigate.”

His face is blank, but there’s a hint of something dangerous mixed with the softness of his voice, and apparently the man can sense it too because he immediately tenses and takes a defensive step back, “The fuck you talking about?? We haven’t stolen anything from the homeless, and we haven’t even crossed into your territory!”

“And you haven’t happened to attack a young girl and threaten her with rape just… three nights ago, have you?”

“So what if we have?” the man sneers with disgust, “She was a rich bitch, not one of those homeless worms you’re so found of. She wasn’t under your protection.”

“Oh really?” The brunet asks, raising his eyebrows, “Did I not mention that attacking women is also off limit? Oh well, my mistake. Add it to the list.”

“But you said we’re allowed to do as we wish as long as we don’t touch the hom-“

“And I’m saying that you won’t lay a hand on women and children now.” Peter says offhandedly, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

The man’s face twists in rage as he snarls at peter, “What the fuck Parker?! First you chase us off the main street and into a corner, and now you’re adding _new_ rules? What’s next, are you gonna say it’s forbidden to _steal_?”

“Of course not,” Peter waves a hand, not looking up from his food, “It’s not forbidden to steal, just to harm people while doing it.”

“The rule stating that you’re only allowed to steal from people without them noticing is only limited to your territory.” Nicholas says from between clenched teeth.

“Oh really,” Peter looks up to smile coldly at the man, “so maybe it’s time I added yours to mine.”

“You little bra-“ The man snarls angrily, hand going to his pocket to pull out the knife the brunet knows he always keeps there, but before he can move even an inch forward, a pale hand shoots out of the shadows and grabs a handful of his dirty mousy-brown hair, dragging his head back while another holds a knife to his neck, “Looking for this?” A cold British voice sneers, pressing the knife closer.

“Wha- my knife- how-“ Nicholas stutters, gulping loudly when Thomas puts a little more pressure on his neck, “Parker- tell your dog- ouch! You crazy bitch! For fuck’s sake Parker tell him to calm down before he kills me!“

Peter nods to Thomas, and he lets the man go and steps back with an eye roll. He doesn’t go far though, but leans back on the wall right next to the man and starts picking at his nails with the knife. Nicholas gulps again when he sees the older boy, and Peter would bet anything that he hadn’t even noticed him till now. (And really, there’s no surprise, because he’d been so quiet that even Peter had forgotten his presence.)

Thomas looks up and gives the man a shark like grin, “Oh please, go on with your important territory talk, don’t pay any attention to little old me.” He says, and in the dim light of the alley, he looks nearly as dangerous as Peter knows (and sometimes forgets) he is. The lights catches on all of the sharp angels of his face and the curtain of his long hair falls on his face and far down his shoulders, creating dark shadows against his eyes. He is far paler and thinner than Peter, but instead of making him look fragile and weak, it somehow makes him look beautifully lethal. There’s just something in his movements and the way he holds himself, the way the overly large clothes sit on his skinny frame and still don’t look awkward, that screams of elegance and grace and honestly Peter is soooo jealous because why can’t he look so cool while threating street thugs? (Honestly, he still isn’t sure how someone like Thomas has ended up on the streets, he asked him once if he was some sort of runaway royal and Thomas looked him dead in the eyes and gave him a flat yes. Up to this day, Peter isn’t sure if he was joking or not – he still keeps an eye on the news to see if England finally announce they’ve lost one of their princes though. Maybe they just haven’t noticed his absence yet, god knows they have a lot of them to keep track of-)

He turns his attention back to Nicholas then, because he’d probably feel bad if Peter doesn’t acknowledge his presence and spends the whole time giving his best friend mental high fives. “So,” He coughs to gain the man’s attention, because he’s starting at Thomas too, “You were saying?”

The man takes a step back, “I’ll- I’ll look into it. the breaking the contract thing. You just- you just stay away, and keep your dog on a leash! He bites!” and with that, he darts down the street and is out of sight before Peter can insult him back.

They stay in a silence for ten second before Peter finally breaks it with a whisper, still not taking his eyes away from where the man has just disappeared into, “was I cool?”

“Very.” Thomas answers just as quietly.

“Thanks,” Peter whispers, and after a pause: “You were cool too.”

“I know.”

They look at each other and burst out laughing.

“Oh my _god_.”

“That was the best-“

“Did you see his _face_ -?”

“I hadn’t had this much fun in _ages_ -”

“He nearly crapped his pants when you held that knife to his throat-“

“I know. That was a neat trick, right?”

“The best.”

They start laughing again.

“Okay,” Thomas says five minutes later, trying hard to keep a straight face, “That’s enough. We have things to do.”

“Right,” Peter says, biting his cheek to keep the occasional giggle in, “To Time square station, right?”

“No, to the _library_.” His friend says, “It’s getting late and you’re behind your studies anyway.”

“What?!” the brunet cries, “Library? Now?? But what about the web-flui-?”

“We go tomorrow.” Thomas cuts in, putting his hands on his hips, “Your studies are more important. And like I said, you’re behind.”

“I’m not behind-“

“I started teaching you Russian two weeks ago and you’re still not fluent.”

“No one can be fluent in just two weeks!”

“I was in less than half that time.” The older boy says flatly, “Stop arguing, you’re not getting out of this.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Peter grumbles, getting to his feet and picking up the bag of the remaining snacks, “But can’t we study something _other_ than Russian? The grammar gives me headaches.”

Thomas purses his lips together for a second before finally nodding. “Okay,” He says, heading toward where the library is located, “How about we study some of those papers you mentioned? The ones Dr. Banner has written? Gamma radiation was it?”

“Really?!” Peter shouts, running to keep up with his friend’s longer strides, “Oh my god, _YES._ How about we study his last pap- FUCK!” He suddenly stops, slapping himself in the head.

“What? What’s wrong?” Thomas asks hurriedly, taking a defensive stance.

 “I forgot to ask Dr. Banner for an autograph!” Peter whines.

His friend just gives him a long suffering look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s finally done. Holy shit.
> 
> Guys please please leave a review and tell me how I did? The longer the review, the better. I was soooo nervous about fucking up now and you guys not liking this, and I rly wanna know what u think. So please please tell me how I did cuz I’m a very insecure and horrible author and abandon things when the story doesn’t get much feedback because I assume it’s trash.
> 
> I also hope you all liked Thomas. I know this is an avengers story too, but the main focus is peter, and I needed someone to be both his friend and his pillar of strength while he’s still on the streets because for fucks sake the kid is just 14 and he needs all the help he can get.
> 
> P.S: I don’t even know what a Walmart is but I heard guys on Tumblr talking about it so I just assumed it’s somewhere u can throw a tantrum. Sry if I’m wrong!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drank so much tea I ran out of teabags and then started on coffee, but here’s the third chap.
> 
> Thank you everyone who supported this I love you. I mean, 700 kudos? Who expected that? Also, the reviews were just lovely. Oh gosh I LOVE long reviews. They’re the best.
> 
> and the guests who have questions…-I’m looking at you lolli- I’m sorry that I can’t answer here but maybe if u come over to AO3 and ask there? It’d be so much easier to reply?
> 
> (Thor is in Asgard rn but he’ll be back later in the story!)
> 
> Enjoy

When Bruce first turned into a huge, brainless beast with anger issues, he thought it was over. He thought he’d never be accepted by people again. That he’d never belong after this. That he’d never have a place to call home for the rest of his life.

And so Bruce ran and ran and never once stopped to catch his breath, never once stopped to look _behind_ , because the destruction left in his wake wasn’t a pretty sight to behold, and by that point he’d already learned that even a gun in his mouth wasn’t enough to keep the nightmares at bay. And so he kept running and left everything he knew and loved behind, and when there was nowhere left to run to, he went into hiding, ashamed of the past and afraid of the future, and waited without knowing what it was that he was waiting for.

And then one day Natasha Romanov kicked down his front door and dragged him to fight aliens and freaking _gods_ of all things, and Bruce’s life changed.

He joined a group of super nutjobs, fought side by side them, and won. It should’ve ended then, after Loki was defeated and the green beast was no longer of use, but when he tried to politely take his leave, Tony freaking Stark took a look at his suitcase and was like’ Nah,’.

That ‘Nah’ was apparently some sort of cheat code for a better life, because not long after that, Bruce found himself with a place to stay and people to hang out with, and was even handed an entire lab and told to ‘go nuts’.

It was awkward at first because he’d been on the run for so long he’d forgotten what belonging to a place, what having a _home_ , felt like; but after he finally got used to Tony’s outrageously expensive gifts and Steve’s homemade food and settled in, it started to work out and he finally realized what he’d been waiting for all those years, had been a second chance.

And up to this day, Bruce is still glad he took it, because now he has a home and more importantly, a _family_. (And today, when he stomps his way into the tower and fantasizes about one the said family member’s gruesome death, he still loves them no less.)

The avengers’ tower lobby is as crowded as ever, and Bruce would normally be nervous to be in a public place such as this, but as he crosses his way to the elevators, he’s greeted by nothing other than kind smiles from the front desk receptionists and a small wave from Bob the security guard who’s sitting in a corner and not-so-sneakily playing some sort of game on his mobile.

Add acceptance to the long lists of things Bruce likes about the tower, because it’s something he didn’t get much of before he joined the avengers, and even after so long, he’s still not used to it. There are lots of other things he likes about the place too, like the labs. Bruce absolutely _adores_ the labs, and he also loves his room which has a built-in aquarium filled with all kinds of colorful fishes Tony said would help him calm down if he ever needed to; but if he had to pick a favorite spot, he’d pick the Avenger’s common room.

All of the tower is, to borrow a word from Tony, ‘awesome’, but the thing about the common room is that it’s _always_ full of laughter and life, and hardly ever empty. Have trouble sleeping? There’s a chance you walk in and see Clint and Tony drunk of their asses, throwing a mid-night party while Natasha sits in the corner in Pajamas and fuzzy socks, sipping coffee from an ‘I Love Black Widow’ mug. Up at ungodly hour in the morning? Try to stumble your way to the coffee machine and five minutes later, you might either find yourself comforting Thor the god of thunder after his attempt to contact Loki using an Ouija board has failed _again_ , or out in the park and in the middle of a jog with Steve and Sam; and the funny thing is that in both scenarios, you have no idea how the fuck you ended up in such a situation.

The point is, Bruce never feels as much at home as he does whenever he’s in the common room, and this time is no different because as soon as he steps a foot out of the elevator and is greeted by the sound of video games and the smell of baked goods, he immediately feels calmer, safer.

“Bruce!” Tony cries when he sees him, abandoning his seat on the long couch and running to him. “You’re late! We were all very worried!”

“I can see that.” The scientist says drily, giving a flat look to the trio playing some sort of shooting video game in the background. Clint and Natasha stare unabashedly back but Sam, who has just slipped into Tony’s now free sit, has the decency to look at least a little bit ashamed.

“What?” Tony says, looking as unapologetic as the assassin due who have now gone back to their game, “Can’t we be worried and play video games at the same time? It’s called Multitasking, you know?”

“Yes, thank you Tony, I know what multitasking is.” Bruce says with an eye roll, “ _Actually_ , I spent the last one and half an hour hours doing _just_ that. I had to both run from a bunch of crazy people with guns and worry about keeping the green beast in.” _and plan your murder_ he thinks but doesn’t say aloud.

“Oh,” Tony says intelligently, and after a pause, “well, did you at least get my snacks?”

And Bruce is like two seconds away from committing homicide when he sees the worry in Tony’s eyes he’s trying hard to hide and notices the look of concertation on his face as he listens to something in the comma he always has in his ear (and oh, _of course_ , JARVIS has probably already scanned him whole and is now giving the report to his creator) and is caught between smiling and shaking his head in frustration, because _really_ , how hard would it be to admit you care?

 “Yes I did,” he says, and watches the other’s face light up before adding, “But I gave them away.”

“What?!” Tony cries, and he looks so betrayed that Bruce starts to wonder if the secret to building an iron man suit was printed on the wrapping of one the snacks or something, “How could you?! How could you betray me like that?!”

“easily.” The scientist says flatly, because he’s _still_ not over the forced morning run, and watches as the other whines and dramatically throws himself on the couch.

No one beside besides Sam (who has had the unfortunate luck of sitting exactly where Tony’s thrown himself) pays him much mind, and even that little attention is in the form of repeated hits to the head with a controller because ‘ _You ruined the game moron_!’, but Tony’s little tantrum has caught the other’s notice, and now Bruce has the worried gaze of captain America on him, “What happened Bruce?” He asks, looking him up and down in search of injuries.

Bruce can’t think of anyway to explain everything without sounding like a complete nutjobs, so he says ‘fuck it’ and decides to go with the truth. “I was at the supermarket when this guy in a- well, golden robe- okay no, a golden dress and some sort of weird make up showed up and asked me if I was interested in circuses. And I didn’t know what to say so I just- I just told him that I liked them enough, and then he said ‘Perfect cuz you’re gonna join’ and tried to attack me with some sort of- I think it was an electric shocker.”

The others stare at him for a moment before Sam lets out a hesitant “and then?”

“Then a couple of other men with weird make ups showed up and attacked me,” Bruce says, and then just because he’s in the mood to be a little extra, continues “Then I ran away, got lost in the back alleys of New York, got kidnapped then realized I was actually being rescued, crossed some of the shadiest districts I’d ever set foot in in my life, and gave Tony’s snacks to a homeless kid.”

Tony, who is now lying face down on the floor, lets out another loud wail at the mention of snacks and rolls on the ground, pretending to be mortally wounded like the over-dramatic idiot that he is; but the others are too busy staring at Bruce to pay him any attention.

“Sorry,” Clint says slowly, putting his controller on the table and turning to face Bruce, “I have a _very_ important question: what the _fuck_ man.”

“That wasn’t an important question,” Natasha remarks, but she too turns away from the game to give Bruce an assessing look. She looks unfazed, but Bruce can see that she is clenching her jaw in that special way she always does when something is troubling her, “But I have to agree. What really happened Bruce?”

“That’s exactly what happened.” Bruce sighs, lifting his glasses to rub tiredly at his eyes, “those guys, the ones chasing me, they pulled out some sort of guns. Well at least I think those were guns. I didn’t exactly stay long enough to check. They made a weird sound though. Anyway, I just- I just thought it would be better to get away from the public before they- before either of us could harm anyone, and took a turn into the first alley I came across. I went too deep though, and got lost.” He pauses to take a deep breath, still rubbing at his face, “I was cornered into a dead-end and I thought- well I thought the Hulk was about to come out so I was just preparing myself for it when a hand shoot out and covered my mouth and someone started dragging me back. I thought it was some sort of kidnapper but turns out a homeless kid saw me being chased and wanted to help. He pushed me into some sort of hiding place till the men went away and then…”

“And then…?” Clint asks, and Bruce notices for the first time that all the avengers are sitting quietly and listening to his story, most leaning forward with curious expressions on their faces. Even Tony has lifted his face from the ground and is looking at him eagerly.

“And then…” He says, ready to tell them all about the time he and Peter spent finding their way through the maze of NY’s backstreets and how he nearly got mugged, only to be saved by a seemingly harmless kid. About how Peter could just _look_ at the thugs approaching them and they’d run with their tail between their legs; but then sees the sharp look in Natasha’s eyes, and thinks that maybe it’d be best to keep that small part to himself. “Then he started fanboying about my research on Gamma radiation and helped me find my way to the main street through some of the safer paths.” He says, “So I gave him the bag of snacks.”

There’s another moment of silence.

“So a homeless kid saved you,” Sam says slowly, “And in return you gave him… snacks?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Bruce asks tiredly, “I tried to give him my wallet, tried to drag him back here so we could properly reward him, tried to find any other way to thank him, and he just clutched the bag of snacks to his chest and took a step back as if he expected me to try to take it _away_.”

“It’s a good thing he even took the food,” Natasha says, and shrugs when the scientist turns to give her a questioning look, “For all he knew, you could’ve drugged them. It shows that he at least trusted you to a degree.”

He gives her a horrified look, “What kind of monster drugs the food they give to a homeless kid?!”

“The ones we don’t bother ourselves to fight.” She says calmly, but there’s something hard in her eyes. “Just be happy he accepted that. Or maybe you shouldn’t be. It could mean that he’s pretty new and still doesn’t know the dangers.”

“Natasha.” Clint says softly, “That’s enough.”

Natasha shrugs and looks away. She looks cool, indifferent, but Bruce knows rage when he sees it, and there’s nothing but hot, angry fire she’s trying to mask in her eyes. (Trust him. He knows everything about masking rage)

But this time, he’s not planning on masking any of his emotions, and oh, _is_ Bruce angry now. He’s only met peter today, and he doesn’t even _know_ him, but the thought of anyone trying to take advantage of a freaking _child_ by using such basic survival needs as food makes him fume with rage. He clenches his fists and growls, and doesn’t even notice that the blood in his veins is turning green till Tony suddenly jumps up and runs to him to try to calm him down.

“Hey, Hey, Brucie, calm down! It’s okay. Nothing like that’s gonna happen! Hey, hey! Deep breaths! If you calm down now we can go find the kid and warn him, okay? Just give me his descriptions and I’ll do my best to find him and then we can help him. I still wanna thank him for saving my bestie, and we’ll give him enough food that he won’t have to accept anything from shady strangers. How’s that? Besides, didn’t you say he helped you reach the main street? If he knows his way through those paths, then it’s very unlikely that he’s new and he can probably take care of himself. So no worries, right? Just take deep Breaths- yeah just like that. Deep breaths.”

Bruce complies, trying to focus on Tony’s voice as he takes deep breaths and does his best to calm down. The mechanic has a point, and Peter could take care of himself if the way the men in the alley ran from his mere sight was anything to go by. Besides, the boy said to give him a call if there was any extra food, so now they have was a very good and definitely-not-creepy excuse to try to find and help him. Yes. Yes. Tony is right. There is no need to worry. (Bruce tries not to think about thousands of other homeless kids they can never save)

Bruce takes another few deep breaths, and when he’s finally calm again, looks up to apologize for losing control like that; but to his surprise finds that other than Tony and Clint, no one else is paying him much attention. Natasha is still stubbornly looking away, seemingly relaxed if not for the tight line of her pursed lips. Sam on the other hand, has no problem showing his emotions and is staring at her, looking no less horrified than Bruce himself feels. Cap is just leaning against the counter, looking down with his fists clenched and a pinched expression on his face.

“So,” Tony coughs, hoping to lighten the tense mood a little, “Bruce. Tell me more about this kid. If we want to fin-“

“Why bother?” Natasha interrupts, and Bruce turns to find her glaring at them with cold eyes, “There are thousands of other homeless kids that we don’t bother ourselves with, what makes this one different?”

The mechanic frowns at her, “Well maybe the fact that he _saved_ Bruc-“

“So what?” She says, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “Are you going to seek him out and force him to accept some sort of reward? Warn him about the dangers **you** can’t even _imagine_ and he has to battle with _every_ day? Tell him that he shouldn’t accept food from strangers when he’s _starving_ to death?” She looks at them with eyes so cold they burn with ice, and Bruce finds himself freezing under the harsh gaze, “All I’m saying is Stark, this isn’t another one of your projects. This is a _real_ person, and you can’t just play with him for a while and then toss him aside when you’re bored.” She says, her voice emotionless but firm, “we’re the avengers, it’s not like we can just take in a normal kid and take care of him, so even if you go to him, don’t be so cruel as to get the kid’s hopes up.”

And with that, she turns and leaves the room, but doesn’t take the ice of her words with herself.

“Don’t mind her,” Clint says after a few moments of silence, “it’s just… false hope can hurt more than hopelessness, and Nat knows that so…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “But I have to agree with her, it’d just hurt the kid more if we continue to seek him out. Like she said, we’re the avengers; we can’t just befriend him and bring him into the tower because we like him. We have to think of his safety as well as his ours and well… we can’t save everyone.”

Tony looks like he’s been slapped and Steve has a sour expression on his face, but they both nod. Sam nods too, still looking a little shocked. They all seem to agree with him, but Bruce… Bruce can’t help but think back to the cheerful kid with the hollow cheeks and skinny frame, and suddenly feels so, so _angry_. Angry with Nat, angry with Clint, angry with his teammates for giving up on a kid so soon, angry with _himself_ because _goddamn it he knows they’re right but he can’t just stand aside and wait for the kid to starve to death._

“No.” He says finally, “No.”

Clint sighs. “Bruce-“

“I don’t care. The kid practically ran with the food the moment I gave it to him and he refused my _wallet_. He was more proud than to accept charity, and he only took the snacks because he was _starving_.” He says, balling his hands in fists, “I don’t think he’s a project. I’m not playing with him only to later toss him aside. I just met a bright kid who saved my life and for god’s sake I want to give him a real _lunch_.”

Clint stares at him for a moment, searching for something and seemingly finding it because a huge grin takes the place of the frown on his face “I’d have expected such rash behavior from Tony, but you Bruce?” he says, and his tone is much more light-hearted than it was a moment ago, “He must be something else.”

Bruce thinks back to the little ball of awkwardness and happy rambles he met just earlier in the day, and smiles, “yes,” He says with a sigh, “yes, he is.”

“Okay, fine,” The archer shrugs, “we’re probably making a mistake and it’s gonna end in tears on both sides, but I’m in.”

“So am I.” Tony pipes up.

“I guess it would probably hurt,” Steve sighs, and Sam nods along, “but we’re in as well.”

“Great,” the mechanic says with a grin, “Now, we only have to find him, and fortunately, we have only like, all of NY to search,” he shrugs, “I mean, how hard can it be?”

“Maybe not all of NY,” Bruce says with a weak smile, “I mean, he did tell me to get lost in the backstreets again if I ever wanted to meet him and he would come find me.”

“Great, that’s like, about half of the town.”

“Oh come on, who needs to find him when he told us exactly what to do?” Clint says with a grin as he perches on the sofa arm, “I say let’s get lost in the back alleys of New York”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just hope you guys like this and plz review? I’m really upset over some things and school starts tomorrow (yeah I know my school sucks we have to go for most of the summer as well) so your reviews are like one of the only bright spots. Also, I don’t know if I’ll get to update much from now on cuz they told us that this year we’re gonna have at least a few exams every.single.day other than the first day and a pile of homework, so if you want an update, plz leave a review and tell me so I try to spare some time for writing this! (And like always, the longer the better, just come and rant about the story and I’ll be forever thankful.)
> 
> I’m sorry if there are any mistakes I’ll come back and edit the ones I can later. It’s just I rly needed to post it before school otherwise it was gonna take forever, and to be honest, I was also looking forward to getting a couple of reviews to cheer me up before this horrible year starts


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My teacher: You have to study at least 45 hours a week (not counting the time spent at school) or you’ll fail and ruin your entire future.
> 
> Me, writing this instead: this is SO sad JARVIS play Despacito.
> 
> (andddddd… that’s how I ended up writing half of this with that damn song playing in the background. Also the reason the updates are gonna be late from now on. sry)
> 
> Thanks for all the love. Ur comments were like the only reason I didn’t give up on this even with all the freaking homework and exams. And I’m honestly sooo grateful to all of u for having my back.
> 
> Enjoy.

Yesterday was a crazy day for one Bruce Banner. He went out on a snack run and not half an hour later, somehow found himself running from a crazy guy trying to forcefully recruit him to join a circus. He ran, got lost, ended up playing hide and seek with said crazy man and his even crazier friends, and met with a homeless kid that thought Bruce’s research was cooler than his part-time job as a superhero.

Like he said, really weird day; so when Bruce finally got home and had to retell the whole story at the risk of sounding crazy, he thought it couldn’t get worse than that. But then he got berated by the spy queen, had to do a motivational speech, and somehow bested Tony Stark in making emotional and rash decisions by making what could possibly be the least thought-out decision of his life.

And now, one day later and when the ice of Natasha’s cutting words no longer burns and only stings, he thinks back to the possible mistake he made, and doesn’t regret it _one bit_.

He kinda does regret asking his friends for help though, because their unofficial brainstorming sessions about how to find the kid _somehow_ ended with Hawkeye’s brilliant plan to just get lost in the backstreets of New York and hope for the best, And the rest of avengers were apparently big enough morons to at least let it happen even if not agree with it.

Bruce isn’t even sure how it happened. Like, it wasn’t that surprising when Tony jumped on the chance to agree with Clint’s plan cuz he was just a ridiculous person like that, but never in his wildest dreams could’ve Bruce imagined Steve freaking Rogers nodding his head to the archer’s suggestion as if it was very reasonable and thought-out plan because _‘It’s a start Bruce. Maybe you find a clue about where to exactly search for him that way?’_

When Bruce consulted a genius, an ex-super assassin and current spy, a national icon who was supposed to be the voice of reason and a literal counselor about ways to find Peter, he was really hoping for something more than this, and he doesn’t like to think about what it means when the suggested method is so disappointingly useless. 

Still, he didn’t do more than frown when Tony and Clint fought over who goes with him yesterday, and he doesn’t do more than that when they get lost in the maze of backstreets of NY and waste their time ‘searching’ today either.

And so he bites his lip and shoves down his disappointment as they –He and Clint, because Tony lost in rock paper scissors- waste half a day walking up and down the shadiest places they can find, hoping to magically bump into the same homeless kid he saw the other day. Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna actually happ-

“I still think we should’ve brought that banner me and Tony made.” Clint grumbles from his right, successfully snapping Bruce out of his rather depressing thoughts. the archer was annoyingly cheerful when they first started their search, but now, five hours later and when they’re lost in a not very bad but not all that nice district of the city, he’s starting to look as miserable as Bruce and it kinda makes the scientist feel better because misery loves company and also because  ‘YES. SUFFER AS I HAVE SUFFERED YOU STUPID BIRD. **SUFFER**.’

“I think one Banner in this search is quite enough, thank you.” He says dryly, not bothering to turn to face the other.

Clint gives him a sideway glance, but he’s apparently in a bad enough mood not to acknowledge his pun. Well, his loss. Bruce thinks it’s a rather good one himself. “Ok, but it’s been _hours_ and the other banner could’ve been really useful.”

The scientist deadpans, “So now I’m not useful.”

Clint scowls at him, “Stop comparing yourself with my handmade banner.”  

“Your handmade banner,” Bruce says, because this is the third time they’re having this conversation and goddamn it if he isn’t already done with Barton’s shit, “Looked like a craft work made by a three year old and was, for the lack of a better word, simply _hideous_.”

“Now, it wasn’t _hideous_. It was a work of _art_ -!”

“It said ‘Looking for Tiny snack stealer to feed’ in glittery pink letters.”

The archers crosses his arms in front of his chest stubbornly, “Like I said. A work of art.”

A part of Bruce’s brain inquires why he’s arguing over such a pointless and stupid thing, but Bruce tells it to shut up because  ‘ _you don’t know my life’_ and manages to perfectly ignore that irritating part when it answers with ‘ _I really do’_ “A work of art done by a kindergartener maybe.” He says with an scowl, mimicking the other

“You’re just jealous because you can’t match up to the other banner!”

“ _Excuse me_? How many PHDs does _your_ banner have?”

“None and It’s still twice the banner you’ll _ever_ be.“

“Enough with the banner puns!“

“You’re the one who started i-“

“I AM IRON MAN.”

They both jump, whirling around with inhuman speed and fully expecting to see a 6 feet high Norse god standing behind them with his hammer raised, ready to break the fight and maybe (accidently) kill them both in the process.

Instead of that, they find a young girl frozen in the middle of taking a bite out of a sandwich, blinking owlishly at them. Blond hair, check. Red jacket, check. Big muscly guy with a magic hammer, definitely not checked. Okay. Not Thor then. Which begs the question of where the heck the sound _exactly_ came from.

 “What the fuck was th-“ Hawkeye starts to say, but is cut off as Thor’s voice once again echoes in the street, and _god_ , this time it’s carrying a _tune_. 

“HAS HE LOST HIS MIND

CAN HE SEE OR IS HE BLIND

CAN HE WALK AT ALL

OR IF HE MOVES WILL HE FAAAALLLLL-…”

“Oh. My. God.” Clint says slowly, and Bruce might have appreciated the horror in his voice If he didn’t look like he was about to burst into laughter any second now, “my poor ears! What’s that?”

“My new ringtone apparently.” The scientist says with a scowl, fishing for his phone in his pocket hurriedly because they might be in a poor district, but there’s something named _music taste_ that has nothing to do with your functional status, and they’re getting judging looks from everyone in the street. (And from those not. Because he sees some heads pocking out from the windows with raised eyebrows and ‘really?’ expressions.)

He’s in so much hurry to find the phone and answer it before Thor can sing anymore high notes, he doesn’t realize it’s a video call till it’s too late, and immediately wants to punch the phone when Tony’s face appears on the small screen and gives him a shit-eating grin.

“Hey Brucie! Bird guy! How do you like the new ringtone I set for myself?”

“It’s awesome.” Says Clint at the same time Bruce says “It’s awful”

“Isn’t it?” Tony says back with a grin, and Bruce isn’t sure which of them he’s agreeing with, but he has a feeling it’s both. “I’d have it playing on repeat if hearing it once hadn’t scarred me for life.”

“That’s some quality bad singing.” Hawkeye agrees with a matching grin, and Bruce finds himself wondering which of them he’d like to strangle more right now. “How the hell did you even get your hands on it?”

“Heard point break singing it in the shower and got JARVIS to record it.” Tony says, and okay, that’s a whole new level of _not alright_ , “It’s really touching, the way he pours his heart and soul into singing my theme song. +A for effort even though he could use a few singing lessons. I’m kinda worried he might have a crush on me though, think I should find a way to turn him down gently?”

“Okay, first of all,” Bruce cuts in, because that’s a conversation he doesn’t need to have today. (Or tomorrow. Or ever.)  “That’s creepy as hell and you better not have any cameras in the bathrooms or I’ll tell Nat. Second of all, the song isn’t even about you.”

“Well it sure isn’t about you either since I don’t hear it say killjoy anywhere in the v-‘

“Tony! Focus!” Steve’s voice snaps from the background and the iron man –but _not_ the one in the song- turns to give someone outside of the frame a betrayed look. He stars at the person (probably Steve) and makes a face before turning back to them with a pout.

“So,” he says, “What’s the news? Found Snack Stealer yet?”

Wow. A question almost as stupid as the one asking it. Unbelievable. “ _Of course_ we did.” Bruce says sarcastically, “How could we not with such _brilliant_ and _practical_ plan of action? Actually, we found him two hours ago. We’re just wasting our time wandering around this districts because they’re _so_ _nice_ and we thought ‘Well, why not do a little sightseeing while we’re at it?’”

“Damn.” Tony says while Clint bursts into giggles, “so much snar-HEY! I was using that”

“Sorry man.” Sam, who has just shoved the other out of the frame and now taken his place, sticks his tongue out at him, “Mom said it’s my turn on the Xbox.”

“Actually,” Steve’s voice says just as Sam is shoved aside too, “I think it’s Mom’s turn on the Xbox. Hey Bruce, Clint.”

“Steve.” Bruce greets back for both of them, because Clint is too busy laughing on the ground to actually speak.

Steve smiles at him, although his smile does look a little strained. “Any luck yet?”

The scientist has a strong urge to scream ‘DID YOU LISTEN TO A WORD I JUST SAID’ at a volume matching the one of the God of thunder’s, but restrains himself at the last second and only shakes his head no because a) they’re at a public place and b) Cap doesn’t deserve that.

Steve sighs, “Have you tried asking around?”

Annnnnnd, another brilliant plan, this time proposed by their national icon, Captain America: Asking around! Because that’s _exactly_ what you should do when you lose a homeless kid that you don’t even know the full name of. Just go around and ask random people if they’ve seen a child with big brown eyes and floppy long hair and try not to sound like a pedophile. Why hadn’t that occurred to him sooner?

“You know what,” He says. Because it’s half past two and they’ve been at this since nine. Because there’s possibly no way this cay can get anymore ridiculous. Because he’s tired and hungry and so, so _done_ with stupid plans and his even stupider friends. “I’m going to do exactly that.”

And with that he tosses the phone to Clint and in a moment of uncharacterized boldness, marches up to the nearest person he can find (who happens to be a young, tattooed man leaning against the wall and taking a smoke) and says with the steadiest voice he can manage: “Excuse me, have you happened to perhaps see a kid, around this tall, with an overly large dark-green denim jacket and a faded black T-shirt, walking around here? Has brown hair and brown eyes, really thin, his name is Peter.”

The man only blinks at him for a long second, as if unsure if he’s the one being talked to, and half turns to make sure he’s the only one around before clearing his throat and standing straighter, “uh…” He says in a hesitant voice, lowering his cigarette and putting it out on the wall, “You mean Peter Parkour?”

Now it’s Bruce’s turn to blink. “Peter… _Parkour_?”

“That’s… that’s not his real name of course.” The man hurries to explain, blushing a little, “it’s just what the guys around here call him cuz he can pull of this crazy moves you know? Cool kid, super flexible. Doesn’t cross here all that often since some of the gangs in the area don’t like him much, but shows up every once in a while to hang out with the kids.”

Bruce can only stand there and blink dumbly, because _okay_ , _was not expecting it to actually work_.

The young man starts fidgeting around when the silence stretches on for too long, looking uncomfortable under the scientist’s gaze, and Bruce doesn’t seem to be intending to speak up anytime soon, so Clint takes it upon himself to stand forward and take it from here.

“And this Peter _Parkour_ ,” He says, couching to hide a grin as he speaks the name, “Do you know where we can find him?”

“He was here just last night,” the man says with a shrug, “Got no idea where he’s now tho. Guy doesn’t tend to stick to one place all that much. Could be anywhere.”

“I know where he is.” A feminine voice cuts in from above.

They look up, seeing a teenage girl leaning out of the window of the apartment they’re standing in front of, only a couple of years younger than the man they’re talking to and with the same piercing forest green eyes. She has straight brown hair tied into a long braid that falls over one shoulder and a purple beanie, and is smirking down at them with a mischievous glint in her eyes.   

“Jasmine!” The young man –presumably her brother, because they look too alike not to be related- snaps, frowning at her, “Were you stalking Parkour again?”

The girl lets out an insulted noise, “Okay first of all, I was stalking _Thomas_ , not that whimp Peter. I got better taste than that. Second of all, it’s not stalking if they both know I’m there.”

The scientist and the archer exchange a look. ‘ _Who the fuck is Thomas_?’ Clint mouths. ‘ _How should **I** know_?’ Bruce mouths back.

The man hisses, glaring up at the girl, “Jasmine, for fuck’s sake, stop hanging around Silver. I tell you there’s something wrong with that gu-“

“Oh shut up Mark.” She says dismissively, rolling her eyes before turning to address them. “Hey! You two! Mr. awkward and arrow guy!” she waits for them to look at her, crossing her arms in front of her chest and raising an eyebrow. Her posture is relaxed, but after spending so much time with the queen of concealing emotions, it’s not hard for Bruce to pick on the suspicion and protectiveness in her eyes, “You guys don’t look like social workers,” She pauses to give the scientist a once-over, raising an eyebrow, “and I’d take a guess and say you’re not here to pick a bone with him either. So why are you looking for Pete?”

Bruce pauses, unsure of how to answer, “We…Uh…”

“We wanna give him lunch.” Clint states.

The girl counties to give them an assessing look for another ten seconds before she finally shrugs, seemingly convinced. “Good enough for me.” She says, turning away from the window and starting to walk away. “God knows those two need all the food they can get.”

“Wait!” Bruce shouts after her, giving Clint a panicked look as she disappears from their sight and closes the window, “You didn’t tell us where to find him!”

“Oh I don’t need to tell you,” Her muffled voice carries through the closed window and to them, and Bruce isn’t sure but he thinks he can hear a hint of smugness in it, “I’m gonna show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY DONE. God this chap killed me. was originally supposed to have another part too but writing that would take at least a week and a half and I wanted to get it to u sooner.
> 
> Okay so first of all, I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were expecting, but I swear I did my best and can only hope that everyone likes it. Also, please note than this conversations are happening after 5 whole hours of fruitless searching in some very awful districts, so it’s not that odd that Bruce is so annoyed. (it also might have something to do with the author being very, very irritated and tired while writing this but that’s irreverent.) 
> 
> PLZ. Guys. PLZ review. I rly want to know what u think and I also need all the motivation I can get. 
> 
> And also, for anyone wondering, Jasmine or her brother aren’t important characters. It’s likely that they won’t show up again unless there is a change in the plans and I need them (and u guys like them) and even if so, they’d still have a very minor role, so no worries about the story being taken over by OCs.
> 
> Thank u headcanon guy for the snack stealer nick name (end every other awesome hc u came up with)
> 
> P.S: I’ll come back later and edit out the mistakes, I just wanted to get this out as soon as


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 8 exams tomorrow and about 100 physics and math test to solve as homework, and honestly I’m at the verge of crying, but here you are. Hope u enjoy and please review!  
> Oh. By the way. Thank u. ALL of u. for the support u showed me. I love u all!

When Bruce finds himself out of breath, lost, and following a teenager down another dark and dirty alley for the second time in two days, he has to take a moment and question what his life is coming to, because really, _what are the chances of that_.

‘Probably as slim as actually finding Peter just by following Clint’s stupid suggestion.’ His mind supplies, and okay, thank you science side of Tumblr, he is actually convinced now. (He’s not even sure what that is, but Clint’s called him that enough times that he’s starting to pick it up)

He still has to remind himself not to make a habit out of it though.                             

He supposes he should be glad that at least this time, no one has tried to shoot, maim, or kill him (or god forbid try to force him to join another circus), but as he walks with Clint making bird noises beside him and Jasmine skipping in from of them, her long dark braid bouncing up and down as she twirls and particularly dances forward to the -admittedly not very good- tune the archer is carrying, he has to wonder if running for his life would be a less traumatic experience than this.

“No offence,” He says, giving the other a sideway glance, “But I think I prefer Thor’s singing to yours.”

It doesn’t stop Clint from looking offended, but at least he tried.

“Don’t let him get to you arrow guy!” Jasmine shouts from where she’s skipping in front of them, half turning to give Clint a grin, “You’re doing amazing!”

Clint grins back at her, turning to give Bruce such a smug look as if Simon Cowell himself showed up just to compliment his singing, but thankfully doesn’t resume his humming. Bruce ponders punching him in his stupid smug face, but then decides against it because aside from being overly ridiculous and unhelpful, (and making bird noises for half an hour) Clint hasn’t really done anything to deserve it, and at least he can’t hum while he has his tongue out at Bruce. (Besides, even when you’re tired and sore all over, it’s the small things in life you should appreciate; like Clint shutting up.)

Or at least, that’s what he thinks till the silence stretches on too long, and he starts to feel uneasy when the only sound in his ears is the sound of their own footsteps echoing around. It starts as a low buzz at the back of his mind and gradually gets louder and louder till it’s almost a scream; and he shivers and tries to tune out the constant slap of his shoes soles on the ground, to focus on something, _anything_ else, and not get swallowed in memories because this; the dark, the dull ache all over his body that tells of hours and hours of walking and the unpleasant smell in the alley; they’re all too familiar and now that there’s no lingering adrenaline from running for his life or the consistent, annoying chatter of the archer to keep his mind away from his darker thoughts, he starts to remember.

And Bruce _despises_ remembering. Hates it with a burning passion. Loathes it so much that he can’t even put it into words. Not because the memories are overly painful or horrific, but because they’re _too_ _normal_. Because they’re just ordinary, random things like flashes of walking down a dark street or looking behind his shoulder, and he hates them so, so much because they seem _harmless_ , but they’re anything but. They’re not traumatic and painful memories like the ones Tony has, and they’re not the stuff of nightmares either, but they have a habit of slipping through the barrier keeping him sane and poisoning his thoughts, and Bruce detests them because they make him feel just as much out of control as being a green monster does.

They never come all at once, but one by one and at such a slow pace he never realizes what’s happening till it’s too late, and this time is no different as the memories latch into the growing anxiety in his chest and leach off the familiar silence only broken by quick footsteps; and they buzz at the back of his mind like they always do, warning him of a distant danger, of being followed, of being _chased_. 

They take him to times long past, to years before when he didn’t have much more than the clothes on his back and the poisoning paranoia rooted deep inside his mind. To when there was no safe place because there was a green monster raging inside his head and the threat of hunters in the world outside. To the times when he used to stop every few steps and wait to see if the footsteps continued on. To see if there was a split second of an echo stretching on too long to be his own. To search for the muffled noises that screamed of shadows following him.

And the problem is that when he pauses a little, even if just to prove to himself that the fear is irrational, the footsteps keep going on; because of course they do. It’s not like Bruce is alone, and there are Clint’s light and silent steps to his right; and Jasmine’s overly loud ones a few feet onwards, her loudness a contrast to Clint’s almost noiseless moves. She runs and jumps and stomps her feet a little too loudly, and Bruce can’t help but think she’s doing it on purpose. That she’s trying to drown the silence in the only way she can, with overly enthusiastic little hops and twirls and skips.

He can appeariate her efforts, more than he appreciates Clint’s stealth at least because her moves don’t make warning sings flash in his mind or scream at him that he’s about to be sneaked on; but it’s still not _enough_ , and by this point, he’s seriously considering begging the archer to go back to humming that awful tune of his just so he doesn’t have to _listen to all this silence_.

Which is of course why he nearly cries with relief when Jasmine breaks it with a random question.

“So…” She says, fully turning and walking backwards so she is facing them. She seems out of place in such a dark place, her eyes lit with life and her colorful clothes a heavy contrast to the bleak and boring environment around them. She smiles at them, and it kinda makes Bruce feel a little bit ashamed that a teenager can handle the situation better than he can, but it also snaps him out of his memories because there was never any room for truly joyful smiles or bright colors in his life from before, “How do you guys know Peter?”

“We don’t.” Clint answers cheerfully, and yes, Bruce thinks he can actually believe those dark times are long past when he has the archer’s smug grin as a reminder for himself, “Or at least, I don’t. Bruce here ran into him while being chased and this Peter guy saved him, so we thought we’d take him out for lunch and thank him properly.”

Jasmine nods as if it all makes sense, although it _really_ doesn’t.

“I believe you since its Peter.” She says as if reading Bruce’s thoughts, once again turning to face forward, “You never know with that kid.”

“You seem to know him really well.” Clint points out, raising an eyebrow.

“I kinda do.” She shrugs, “I was the one who taught him how to pick pocket people after all.”

Bruce stops short, blinking. “What?” He asks dumbly.

Jasmine gives him a half glance, raising an eyebrow when she sees the stunned look on his face. “What? You thought he survived all those years in the streets with his puppy dog eyes and sense of morals?” She asks, giving him an unimpressed look. “Kid was starving to death when I found him, so I taught him a couple of tricks to fend for himself. Not that he uses them all that much these days,” She sighs, rolling her eyes, “That whimp has talent, but is too much of a saint to actually use his skills. So don’t worry, you’re not gonna _mysteriously_ lose your wallets today.” She waves a hand, resuming her pace. Her voice is no less cheerful, but she’s no longer skipping and her shoulders are a little too tense.

Bruce starts walking too, a little horrified, but not for the reason the girl probably assumes. He’s not in shock because He just learned that Peter isn’t the innocent angel he looks like, not troubled because he followed a thief through dark and empty streets that gave him the perfect chance to mug him or something, not upset because he’s just ‘learned’ of the real world’s harshness or how things in the streets _really_ work (huh. Like he needs a teenage girl to educate him on that) , but he’s shaken because just yesterday, he saw a kid who turned away a wallet that was offered willingly just because it wasn’t _right_ , and he doesn’t like to think what it’d take for the same kid to take to _stealing_.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” He mumbles quietly, and wonders if he should be troubled that even the annoyingly rational part of his brain doesn’t try to convince him to be at least a _little bit_ worried about it.

Jasmine gives him a long curious look, and apparently finds something in his face that she likes, because the sprint is back to her step when she starts moving again. “Good,” She says, “Because we’re almost there and I didn’t waste an hour bringing you guys here so you can change your mind and walk back now.” She pauses then, and doesn’t bother to turn to look at him when she adds: “and if it makes you feel better, he taught me how to skateboard in return.”

Strangely enough, it does make him feel better.

They fall back into silence again, but it’s much more comfortable and relaxed now, and Bruce finds himself too distracted to fall back into his darker thoughts again. The surroundings around them start to change not much later, giving their place to cleaner, brighter streets full of light and colorful advertisement signs everywhere; and soon, they have to push against the crowd and cling to each other so they don’t get separated. 

“It’s a nice change of scenery,” Clint says when both Bruce and Jasmine give him questioning look when he grabs their sleeves, “But I’d prefer not to get lost.”

Jasmine just laughs and grabs his sleeve back, dragging them along. There’s a certain grace to her movements as she makes her way forward, easily slipping through the thick crowd and laughing at the two of them as they stumble and try to squeeze their way through the sea of bodies without bumping into too many people. (Although, to be honest, the stumbling and bumping around is mostly on Bruce’s part. But oh well. _Details_.)

Jasmine finally stops when she reaches a flight of stairs leading to underground, and waits for them to catch up. “Down there.” She says, pointing to the entrance of the station. “I’m not sure where exactly he is, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. He always attracts a crowd.”

“You’re not coming?” Bruce asks at the same time Clint asks “A crowd?”

The Brunette smirks, ignoring Clint’s question, “Nah.” She says, taking out a silver branch-shaped hairclip out of her pocket, “I stole Thomas’s favorite hairclip yesterday, and he might still not be over that, so I better not show up.”

Clint frowns, “Who’s Thomas?”

“Peter’s best friend,” Jasmine says, giving him a solemn look, “And someone you _really_ don’t wanna face after you’ve stolen his favorite hairclip.”

Bruce finds himself agreeing with her, because he might not know who this Thomas is, but that’s a _very_ pretty hairclip and he’s seen Natasha try to kill Clint for taking much simpler hairbands from her room. He still has to object though, even if just for the sake of politeness, “Are you sure you don’t want to join us for lunch?” He asks, trying to give her a sincere smile that probably comes out as awkward. Goddamn it, he’s not good at this ‘thanking my rescuers’ part, “You, um, really helped us out and if it wasn’t for you we’d probably still be wasting our time wandering around; so if you’d like some food…?”

Jasmine shakes her head, “Don’t worry about it,” She says, waving a hand dismissively, “Just get some food in that whimp and call us even. He can probably eat his and my share both anyway, so just get him two servings of whatever you’re buying.” She slowly starts to walk backwards, getting farther and farther away with each step, and they have to strain their ears to hear her voice clearly in the buzz of the crowd, “Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’d better get going. Arrow guy, Mr. awkward, it was fun, and you two seem like really nice people, so I give you a little word of advice,” she says, and her voice is no less cheerful when she cries: “Don’t fuck with Peter if you love yourself, or you might end up with a slit throat!”

Bruce blinks.

“I’m sorry, wh-? Is that a threat?!” Clint shouts after her, “I thought this Peter dude is a nice guy?!”

“He is!” She shouts back, “But Thomas isn’t!”

And with that, she’s gone.

“Sooo…” Clint says after ten seconds of silence, “Are we going to feed a serial killer?”

“I think we’re going to feed a serial killer’s best friend.” Bruce says dryly.

“Cool,” the archer says, and after a pause, “Lead the way.”

Bruce complies.

The subway station is busy, filled with people rushing around to catch the tube and a group of tourists who are all crowding around the map pinned to the wall, chattering loudly as they point to the colorful lines signifying the subway lines and talk in a mix of poor English and other languages, each trying to help find the right route.

“How the hell are we supposed to find him in this mess?!” Bruce cries in horror as he takes in the crowded hallway.

“Jasmine said to look for a crowd.” Clint suggests, pointing to the group of tourists.

“Right.” Bruce says flatly, “Because the homeless kid I met yesterday might have magically turned into a map overnight.”

Clint seems to consider it for a moment before nodding, “Or he could be deeper in the station.”

He is, in fact, deeper in the station.

He’s also in the middle of a thick crowd of people, just like Jasmine said he’d be, and as promised, they have no trouble finding him because there are whistles and cheers calling out his name so loudly you can hear it from a mile away, so the girl wasn’t joking when she said he always attracts a crowd, but the one tiny little detail she forgot to mention was that he always attracts a crowd because he’s apparently some sort of _Olympic medalist level gymnast_.

And really, Bruce should’ve seen it coming, considering Jasmine showed them to time square station which is the street performers’ main base, and her brother literally called him ‘Peter Parkour’, but as he watches peter do a crazy mix of street dancing, gymnastic moves, and ballet, he has to admit he was in no way prepared for this.

“’’really flexible’?! Seriously? That’s what Jasmine’s brother likes to go with?” Clint exclaims as they watch Peter bend his body back in such an angle that should’ve broke his back in two, immediately followed by a backwards split handstand, landing, and a quick back handspring. “The kid is made of rubber!”

“Yeah!” Bruce agrees, watching in wonder as peter pauses a second in his moves and raises one bent foot, starting to spin. He spins once. Twice. For the third time. And then does it again and again, getting faster and faster with each one. “I’m starting to get dizzy.” The scientist remarks when the spinning doesn’t seem to stop, shouting so he’s heard over the loud cheering of the crowd

“I’d lose my lunch after the fifth one.” Clint nods, and after seeing Bruce’s horrified look, quickly back tracks, “Not that he’s going to do that obviously. Don’t worry, Nat does this all the time and most of the time she’s not even fazed, besides, I think he’s going to stop this soon.”

And he’s right because the spinning does, thankfully, stop, but the kid doesn’t pause for more than a few seconds before he’s moving again, this time running fast and doing an Aerial cartwheel, but instead of landing like he usually does, he lets himself fall.

Right into the arms of another street performer who’s standing a little to his right.

Bruce is about to shout a warning because the kid he’s chosen to catch him is skin and bones (and long hair) and there’s no way he can actually support Peter’s however slight weight, but before he can do anything, Peter is shouting something himself and the stranger looks up with a startled expression, quickly holding out his arms so the brunet falls into them. He must really be stronger than he looks, because he does manage to catch him. It’s only for a second though, because as soon as the surprise fades from his eyes, he gives the brunet an annoyed looks before suddenly letting go.

Peter drops and for an alarming second, Bruce thinks he’s going to hit his head and die, but at the last moment, he puts his hands on the ground and does a back walkover, landing on his feet.

The crowd goes absolutely crazy, whistling loudly and cheering for him, a lot of them running forward to put money in the tin can on the ground. Peter stands there with sparkling eyes, giving a little bow and laughing happily till his eyes land on them and he suddenly freezes.

‘Oh. My. God.’ Bruce reads his lips as the kid blushes and quickly bends down, crossing his arms over his torso and trying to cover his stomach. The scientist just looks at him confusedly before suddenly noticing the black shirt he thought the kid was wearing under his jacket the other day is actually a loose crop top.

The boy quickly walks backwards and picks up his jacket from where it’s lying on the ground, throwing it on and zipping it before making a beeline toward them.

“Dr. Banner!” He whisper shouts in a high voice, “Sir wha- what are you doing here?! Not that I’m not happy to see you! I mean, Of course I’m happy! Who wouldn’t be happy to see you? They’d have to be crazy. And I’m not. Crazy that is. Not not happy to see you- anyway Sir why are you here? And- OH MY GOD IS THAT HAWKEYE?!”

“How did you say that all without breathing?” Clint asks him, sounding amused.

“Oh my god, it _is_ Hawkeye.” The kid gapes, “Dr. Banner and Hawkeye in one day! I think I’m about to pass out.”

“That happens when you forget to breathe while talking moron.” A British voice sneers and they turn to see the same pale kid from before walking toward them with a jar of money in hand. He comes closer, but keeps his distance, stopping a good few feet out of reaching distance and giving them distrusting looks. “Forgive the rambling, he does that while he’s nervous. But I think what this idiot was trying to ask is what two of the avengers are doing here, and he does have a point.”

“We. Uh. We…” Bruce stutters, feeling small under the unnaturally blue gaze, “Peter helped me out yesterday and I- well I didn’t get to thank him properly? So we thought we’d take him out to lunch… if he’s okay with that.”

“Thanking me properly?” Peter asks, sounding confused. “But you already gave me the snacks?”

The other boy ignores him, considering Bruce for a long second before finally nodding, “Go with them Peter.”

Peter frowns, “But we’re supposed to meet with Alex and buy the in-“

“Go get some food,” The other boy cuts him off, still not taking his eyes off Bruce. “I’ll get everything you need for you.”

“What? You’re not coming?” The scientist asks, truly surprised. Sure, feeding every other homeless person they come across wasn’t part of the plan, but this boy seems awfully close to Peter and he’s also thin enough that Bruce had assumed he’d undoubtedly jump at the chance to get a free meal. Besides, it’d just rude to just grab Peter and leave his friend to starve “You can… uh… tag along if you want too you know? It’s really, um, no trouble at all.” He takes a step forward, trying to reassure the boy, but as soon as he moves an inch, the other jumps back, putting even more distance between them.

 “No thank you.” He says, giving them a grimace that was probably supposed to be a polite smile, “I have business to attend to, but I assume you’ll take care of Peter for a few hours and won’t let him get into too much trouble.”

Bruce just nods, still speechless at the weird reaction he just received. It’s not every day that people see him and think ‘scary, dangerous avenger that should be kept at distance’, but he supposes the older boy can be just wary of the Hulk.

“If you don’t need anything else,” the boy says, giving them a small nod before turning to Peter, “And you.” He says, pointing a finger in his face and scowling, “Behave.”

And with that, he walks away.

“So…” Clint says after a few moments of silence. “You’re being mothered by a vengeful skeleton?”

Peter bursts out laughing. “Oh god he’d love that nickname.” He says, hiding his giggles with a hand, “But no. that was my best friend Thomas. Sorry he’s in such a bad mode, he’s just not good at  the whole meeting new people thing.”

“Huh.” Clint says, looking to where the older boy has disappeared to, “So that was the serial killer.”

The kid blinks at him, “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce says, stomping on the archer’s foot, “Shall we get some food?”

The bright smile that lights up the brunet’s whole face is more than enough answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I’ve never been to America or New York or time square station, and I literally spent nearly an hour searching and still couldn’t find a map I could actually figure out, so I’m going with one of the subway stations I’ve actually been to and imagining things are the same there too. Which means there are a lot of tourists reading the map and weeping in despair as they can’t find their way, and also people rushing around, bumping into each other and not giving a shit.  
> Plz excuse it as my bad writing if that’s not the case.  
> Also, like I said before, the updates are going to be late, because I was not joking when I told u we’re supposed to study 45 hours a week at minimum without counting the hours spent at school, and I get to write about only one or two days in the week, and even that time is limited.   
> Thank u for your understating and I hope everyone enjoyed this.  
> Each review makes me more eager to write and I really need all the motivation I can get in the middle of this hell. So plz guys. Plz review. I love every single one of them and I adore the long ones!   
> Oh by the way someone said I should switch to past tense… sorry but I think it’s a little too late for that now and also this is a lot easier. I’ll make sure to go in past tense if I ever wanted to write a real book tho!  
> Thank u again for everything and please tell me how I did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I just watched my second (or is it third) Marvel movie, and I have to say: Captain America: the winter soldier is a master piece. (Also now I finally have an idea who Sam, Cap and Nat are that isn’t entirely based on fics, so yay for that too, now only if I could sit still long enough to watch one of the iron man movies or the avengers too… that would make writing a hell lot easier.)
> 
> On another note: *deep breath* 1500 KUDOS????? IS THIS A DREAM?????? *high pitched screaming* 
> 
> To anyone who reviewed: I love u. thank u so so much. U don’t know how happy every single one of them make me!
> 
> ENJOY~

Bruce Banner is no stranger to crazy days.

He was there for the whole Loki mess and the alien invasion clean up, survived the horrid week remembered as the ‘Great glitter war of 2k15’,  and even went through the day a new SHIELD physiologist forced the Avengers to attend a group therapy and lived to tell the tale.

But even he has to admit that the last two days have been surreal.

Like really, getting emotionally attached to a street kid _definitely_ hadn’t been on his to-do-list for yesterday (or today, or any day in the next ten years), but well, things happened, and right now as he walks with an amused Clint on one side and the excited ball of restless chatter and wide smiles that is Peter on the other, he can’t say he really regrets it all that much.

He steals a glance at the kid, smiling softly to himself when he finds him jumping up and down and still talking animatedly with his hands. He looks better than yesterday, the bruise on his jaw from before already gone. Bruce is a little confused about that, but he passes it off as not getting a good look at the teen’s face yesterday. It was dark in the alley, and besides, it could’ve been paint or something else entirely.

The kid catches him looking and gives him a beaming smile in return, not ceasing his chattering even for a second. He’s back in the clothes he saw him in the other day, too big denim jacket back on and his faded and torn jeans hastily pulled over the black legging Bruce now knows he wears under his pants. The scientist is somehow grateful for them, because the thin fabric of the jeans doesn’t seem to be much protection against the cold, and he _really_ doesn’t need to add ‘freezing to death’ to the list of things that make him worry about Peter.

He probably should though, because winter is just around the corner and he knows from experience that even two layers aren’t enough to keep out the freezing chill of New York’s nights, that none of the worn and tattered clothes are going to keep the kid warm or dry when it starts to snow, that it is very likely that he actually _does_ freeze to death; and has to bite his lip when his thoughts start to take a darker turn and remind himself that as much as he hates to admit it, Natasha and Clint were right: He can’t get involved more than he already is, even if he desperately wants to.

And besides, what can he even do about it? Just happen to wander around with a plastic bag of warm clothes in hand to give out in case anything like last time happens? Or what, offer to buy Peter new clothes because that _totally_ wouldn’t come off as creepy?

That’s just a big red ‘NO’ with both letters in caps, because like it or not, they’re nothing but strangers, and taking him out for a late lunch is probably more than what would pass as normal by itself.

Still, Peter doesn’t seem to mind that they showed up out of nowhere with the offer of food, and Bruce isn’t sure if that’s something he should be happy about or not; because there’s still the echo of Natasha’s harsh words in his ears, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s trust keeping Peter from bolting away or naivety.

To be honest, he really doesn’t want to know.

(And which is worse anyway? The kid being untainted and pure enough to be taken advantage of, or him having already lost his innocence?)  

Despite Bruce’s protests, they end up going to a fast food restaurant for lunch, because of course they do. No matter that Peter is a severely underweight kid in need of real nutrition, he’s still a teenager and teenagers would pick junk food over healthy things any day of the week. (And considering that Clint counts as a kid too, Bruce is easily overruled.)

“We can’t give him junk food.” He protests when the archer announces he knows the perfect place to buy a greasy cheeseburger and takes the lead, Peter eagerly following him like an overly enthusiastic puppy, “He’s had enough of that! I just gave him a bag of everything unhealthy yesterday!”

“Bullshit!” Clint throws over his shoulder, not bothering to turn to face him. Wise move on his part really, because Bruce would’ve chewed him out for swearing in front of a minor, “Listen here Bruce, there are three things in life you can never have enough of: exploding arrows, coffee, and junk food.”

“And dogs!” Peter says cheerfully. 

The archer stops in his tracks, turning to give the boy a look of pure awe, “Such wisdom… and at such a young age…” He mutters, giving the kid another once-over before suddenly whipping around to stare at Bruce, “I approve of your choice.” He says seriously, giving him a quick nod of approval before once again turning back to a confused Peter, not giving the scientist a chance to react, “Just for that, I’m buying you curly fries.” He tells the boy, bending down a little so he can put his arm around the other’s bony shoulders and drag him forward. It’s a little awkward, considering the height difference and the general thinness of the boy, but it makes the kid beam at him so it’s worth it.

“I still think we shouldn’t get him junk food,” Bruce mumbles weakly but follows Clint’s lead to the cheeseburger place. He probably should protest again, put his foot down and insist they go to the homemade restaurant around the corner that at least gives the illusion of serving healthy food, but one look at Peter’s pleading puppy dog eyes and his resolve crumbles.

There’s not much he can do for the kid, but he’ll get him a damn cheeseburger if that’s what he wants.

The restaurant they end up going to is a tiny one tucked in a corner with a small yellow sign that simply reads ‘Anna’s’, and has a big wooden door that probably used to be pure white, but is now stained and scratched with some of the paint peeling off. Bruce raises a brow at Clint, questioning if it’s the best place to take the kid, but he waves his concern off with a grin and pushes the door open.

The inside is admittedly more impressive than the place’s outward appearance first suggested, looking much more cared for and with dark wooden walls and leaf green curations framing the wide windows. There are four booths in the restaurant, squeezed together in the tight space but somehow not making the place look packed, and there’s soft jazz music playing in the background.

“Clint!” a sound cries, and Bruce turns to see a dark-skinned woman making her way toward them. She is well into her fifties, with long black hair styled into micro braids and clever grey eyes. She’s tall. Certainly taller than Bruce and maybe even near Hawkeye’s height, and has an athletic body and a face that has kept its beauty despite the occasional wrinkle. She stands a few feet away from them, putting her hands on her hips, “Look who decided to show up! Thought I’d lost my best customer!” She says, eyes glinting.

“Never!” Clint says, putting a hand on his heart, “I wouldn’t swap your cheeseburgers for the world!”

“Uh-huh,” the woman says skeptically, turning her eyes on them, “Who are your friends?” she asks, giving them a calculating look.

“Bruce and Peter,” the archer introduces, pointing to each of them as he says their name, “and this is Anndee. She and her husband run this place, and their cheeseburgers are to die for.”

“Flattery won’t give you a discount boy.” The woman says with a mock scowl but seems pleased with the compliment. She nods to them, frowning when her eyes land on Peter, “Well if that’s not a sack of skin and bones.”

Peter waves shyly, a light blush covering the tips of his ears, “Nice to meet you?”

“You too kid.” The woman says, frowning harder, “What can I get you?” she says, speaking to Clint but still not taking her eyes off Peter. Bruce doesn’t blame her, since he spent the better half of their first meeting staring at the kid’s back and worrying about his unnatural thinness, but he still wishes she’d stop because her staring is noticeably making Peter uncomfortable.

“Three cheeseburgers.” Clint says, raising his volume a little to get the woman’s attention off the now fidgeting kid, “and curly fries. Oh and three coca-colas. That’s okay with you Peter, right?”

Peter nods hurriedly, not looking the woman in the eye.

“Actually make that four cheeseburgers.” Bruce says, and shrugs when confronted with the archer’s questioning look, “we, uh, we promised Jasmine that we’d give her share to Peter, remember?”

“Jasmine?” Peter asks, confused.

The scientist nods to the boy, mouthing that he’ll explain later. Clint seems to consider them for a bit before once again turning to face the woman, “Make that five but we take one home.” He says, and then for their benefit explains: “For Mr. vengeful skeleton.”

“For Thomas?” Peter splutters, “You, uh, don’t have to! I-I can just keep half of mine and give it to him later or something-“

“Five it is.” The woman says firmly, giving him another once over “And I’ll give you two servings of curly fries and onion rings. Don’t worry, it’s on the house.”

She quickly turns and walks back to the kitchen doors, mumbling under her breath in another language as she goes.

“Well.” Clint turns back to them with a cheerful clap, pushing Peter toward one of the booths, “That went well. Now let’s take a seat and wait for our food to be prepared. It won’t take long.”

They comply in awkward silence, Peter taking a seat on one side and Bruce and Clint settling in front of him. They stare at each other, neither sure what to say or how to start a conversation. The scientist half expects the kid to burst into another rant about science, but he keeps silent, fidgeting slightly in his seat. He seems restless, kicking his legs and drumming his fingers on the table.

Bruce is going through his recent papers in his head, trying to find something interesting enough to discuss with the kid so that he may relax a little, when Clint suddenly bursts into snickers, “Wow!” the man exclaims, grinning from ear to ear, “Nice nails! Where did you get them done?”

Bruce frowns, lifting his head to ask what he means when he notices he’s not the one being talked to. Instead, his friend’s gaze is locked on Peter’s restless hands, an amused glint in his eyes.

The scientist turns to look too, trying to see what’s so interesting, and manages to catch a glance of long, clean nails before the boy quickly snatches his hands away and hides them under the table. Bruce blinks, a little taken aback. He can’t be sure with such a quick look, but it seemed to him that the nails were long and extremely sharp, and obviously taken care of. They wouldn’t have looked strange on a fashionable teenage girl, but on a homeless kid?

‘Unexpected’ is one word for it.

More than anything though, Bruce’s surprised he didn’t notice them till now, but he supposes that the long sleeves of the oversized jacket did a good job of hiding the kid’s hands.

“It’s- uh, they’re for a- they’re for work!” the kid squawks, voice dangerously high, “I have to- to keep them long! It’s not a- a fashion statement!”

Clint’s grin widens, a mischievous look entering his eyes as he opens his mouth to ask another question, but Bruce kicks him in the shin before he can embarrass the kid any further. Peter’s face has turned an alarming shade of red and the scientist is afraid his head might explode with all the blood rushing to it.

He turns back to the kid, smiling softly, “Are they for the… um, shows? Like the one we saw earlier?” He asks kindly, not wanting to push but unable to hide his curiosity.

The boy shakes his head, face turning ever redder if possible at the mention of his performance in the station, “Uh, no… an-another work.”

Bruce frowns, trying to think of anything that could be counted as ‘work’ for an underage, homeless kid. “Do you… play any musical instruments?” He asks slowly, tone hesitate. It’s unlikely, seeing the kid doesn’t have enough money for food, let alone something as expensive as a guitar or a harp, but he supposes he could’ve had it from before the whole homeless thing and then kept playing it to make more money.

“Yes!” the boy cries, a little too quickly maybe, and tries to give them a convincing smile that comes off more like a grimace. “That’s, um, exactly what I do! Some of the bands at the station said they’d teach me to play the- the guitar in exchange of learning some of my dance moves, so I grew them long for that! That’s it! No other reason!”

Clint raises an eyebrow, obviously not convinced, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything else as Anndee comes back with their food. Bruce pushes the whole thing to the back of his mind, opting to watch with a smile as Peter’s eyes light up when she puts the biggest plate in front of him. The boy throws a glance at them, silently asking for permission before grabbing his food and biting into it.

If taking the kid out for lunch was a bad decision… well, Bruce has never felt so at peace with a bad decision before in his life.

They continue to eat in silence for a while, Peter taking hurried bites like he’s afraid they’re going to take the food away if he wastes too much time chewing the food instead of swallowing huge pieces. It makes Bruce sad, but he’s relieved that at least the kid doesn’t seem to suspect them of trying to drug his food. He’s just thinking of telling him to slow down when Peter stops, giving them a shy glance, “So, um,” he says, pointing to the second cheeseburger in his plate, “You, uh, mentioned a Jasmine?”

Clint nods at him, “Yeah. She was the one who helped us find you. Said she’s one of your friends.”

Peter frowns, chewing the food slowly before his eyes widen in realization, “Green eyes, ridiculously long braid and too colorful clothes? We’re thinking of the same Jasmine?”

“That’s her.” The archer grins, “Sass queen, awesome music taste, super cool black shiny beanie.”

“Yeah- wait, Black beanie?” Peter asks, eyes suddenly alight with excitement, “Did it have a big red spider on it?”

Clint’s eyebrows knit together as he thinks back to earlier in the day, trying to remember the exact design of the girl’s clothes. “I think it did.”

“I knew it!” Peter cries, punching the air “I knew she hadn’t thrown it away just because she was mad at me! That huge liar!”

“You like that beanie?” Bruce asks him, smiling.

“Of course!” Peter says happily, not looking at him when he says, “I stole it for her birthday!”

There’s a moment of silence when nothing happens, a small chance that maybe the sentence would go unacknowledged by all three of them and the peace would last, but then the kid’s eyes go wide as he notices what he’s just admitted to, and Bruce has a millisecond to think ‘Oh dear, here we go,’ before Peter is half out of his seat and ready to run.

“Hey, Hey! Wait!” Hawkeye cries, throwing himself forward and grabbing the kid’s jacket. It’s not a tight hold by any means, and Bruce knows for a fact that if he pleases Peter can easily shake it off and run away, but it makes the teen freeze as if they put Mjolnir on his feet.

“Peter?” Clint calls softly when the kid doesn’t move, standing so still he’s not even breathing. “Peter, Look at me.” He says, and when the kid doesn’t move again, reaches forward to poke him in the arm.

Peter flinches violently.

Clint’s face goes lax, his eyes flashing with something dangerous once before they go emotionless “Hey,” He says softly, letting go of the kid’s sleeve and holding his hands up in a non-threating gesture, “Peter, it’s fin-“

But Peter doesn’t let him finish before he’s turning his fearful eyes on them, shaking his head rapidly, “- I- I- d-didn’t I- wa-” The kid stammers, face unnaturally pale and sound shaky, “I- I swear- I do- don’t do it a-anymo- don’t s- steal- I- Sorry- Ple- …“

 “Pete- Peter listen to me!” Hawkeye tries again but is ignored for the second time as the kid’s voice pitches higher and higher and his body starts to shake.

“I- It was a l-long time- long time ago-“ He says, wide and terrified eyes fixed on them like he expects the Avengers to start beating him up for something as stupid as stealing a beanie. “I don’t- a-anymore- I s-swear. I ju-just- I know- was w-wrong- now so-sorry- pl-”

“Peter- goddamn it just listen- “ Clint says desperately, attempting to get up and walk over to the kid’s side, but Bruce puts a hand on his leg to stop him before he can move.

“Peter.” The scientist says, leaning forward a little but keeping his voice soft and firm. His tone is no different from the usual one he uses, not filled with distaste or pity, but colored with calm acceptance.  The kid’s eyes immediately snap to his, wide and a little wet, “It’s okay.” He says, giving him a sad smile, “I _understand_.”

And apparently, Peter understands him too, because the terror in his eyes gives its place to shock. The kid gives him a disbelieving look, asking a silent question, and Bruce just nods and continues to smile at him kindly.  

There’s no need for other words or soft whispers of comfort, because the two words might’ve been muttered softly, but the hidden meaning behind them rung loud and clear: No one here is going to judge Peter about his past, not without judging Bruce first.

“Eat your cheeseburger.” The scientist tells the kid when he’s calmed down and is rewarded with a wet smile before Peter picks up his food and starts eating again.

They eat in silence for another while, long enough that the kid calms down and starts another rant about the things he read in a science book a few weeks ago, and well, if he refuses to look them in the eyes or his voice is a little subdued, no one mentions it.

Clint doesn’t join the conversation at first, happy to just sit back and let the teen and his friend have their boring science talk, but his interest is peaked when Peter causally mentions ‘learning about’ some complicated biology stuff the other day.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He says, holding a hand up, “you go to _school_?”

The teen blushes, looking down at his lap, “Not- not school. I go to the library every few days and spent the day looking through the shelves for anything useful to learn.” He mumbles, playing with the hem of his jacket, “I teach myself the easier stuff, and the rest… well, Thomas usually explains them to me. He’s a little impatient, but can be a really brilliant teacher if he wants.” 

The archer raises an eyebrow, looking at him dubiously, “Isn’t Thomas like, what, only five or six years older than you?”

“I’m not sure exactly how much older,” Peter admits, “But he’s really bright. He usually asks for a week whenever I want to learn a new thing and teaches himself everything about it in that time, then helps me around.”

“Wow,” Hawkeye whistles, “Must be something.”

“He is!” Peter says happily, pride for his best friend shining in his eyes, “He doesn’t like science like I do though. He’s good at it but prefers to teach me as many languages as he can and stuff like that. He says those are the skills that’ll help me when I’m older.” He shrugs, turning his eyes downwards and kicking his legs, “He’s great you know? But well, also a little too demanding. Like he expects me to be as smart as he is and doesn’t realize not everyone is a _genius_ who can be fluent in a new language in _three days_.”

Bruce frowns, a little taken aback by the kid’s bitter tone, “But you’re pretty smart.” He blurts out before he can help himself, but continues in a firmer voice when the kid’s skeptical eyes land on him, “People twice your age can’t read even one page of my research without getting a headache, but you- well you’ve been talking about it for the last half an hour and I can tell you understand it better than many college professors do.”

Peter blinks, as if not used to being told he’s smart. “But I-“ He bites his lip and looks away, tone hesitate, “Sometimes- sometimes I don’t understand all the parts.” He admits, avoiding Bruce’s eyes as if having trouble comprehending _some_ parts of PhD level stuff is something to be ashamed of. 

Bruce doesn’t know what to say.

Peter takes his silence as a bad sign, starting to fidget with his jacket’s zipper as his cheeks color, “It’s, uh, I mean I know it’s not a good excuse, but some of the books in the library- they use some words I don’t know yet. I mean I barely finished elementary school before this whole thing so-“ he mumbles, curling into himself a little bit, voice getting a little squeaky, “And I _know_ I can always ask Thomas but…I think it’s really simple stuff I should already know so…” He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, “I just really don’t wanna disappoint him.” He admits.

“Then ask me.” Bruce says without thinking, because really, the only other reasonable thing to do is to scream ‘BULLSHIT’ at the top of his lungs, and that’s not a really polite thing to do.

The boy gapes at him, his eyes so wide it’s a wonder they haven’t fallen out yet, and squeals: “What?!”

And at that moment, Bruce officially decides he doesn’t give a damn about their plan to keep their distance after this. That the whole ‘it’s for the best’ crap can go to hell and close the door behind itself, that (All due respect to the redhead and her usually reasonable paranoias) Natasha doesn’t know shit about his life and should just leave him to his bad and probably life-ruining decisions.

 “I’ll help you with the difficult science books and you study everything else with your friend,” He tells the kid firmly, bracing himself for a hard kick in the shin and the meaningful looks asking what the heck he thinks he’s doing from Clint, and is more than a little surprised when none come. “Just tell me when and where you usually go to study and I- well I can’t promise to, but I’ll do my best to show up at least two or three times a month and help out with anything I can.”

Peter’s jaw falls open, his eyes going even wider which Bruce thought impossible till a second ago, and when he starts to talk again his voice is more of a high pitched squeal than anything else, “Uh, ye-yeah I go- I go three times a week- usually on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. E-even on Sundays if I can, and mostly to the library in- wait, I’ll write the address down!”

And with that he jumps out of his seat, running to the corner of the restaurant where Anndee is sitting and not-so-subtly listening in to their conversation, asking loudly for a sheet of paper and a pen.

“So,” Bruce sighs after the kid follows the woman to the back of the restaurant, turning back to his friend, “You’re not gonna try to convince me that this is a very, very bad decision and that I should keep my distance?”

Clint stills, pausing in the middle of noisily making bubbles in his soda, “You know,” He says matter of factly, not looking up to meet Bruce’s eyes. “When I suggested looking for him in the streets, I didn’t think we’d really find him.”

Bruce doesn’t say anything, because he already figured as much.

The archer blows in his straw one more time, acting nonchalant, but visibly getting tenser and tenser the longer the other remains silent. “Me, all of us -or maybe not _all_ because Tony said he’d still search for the kid with his Tech while you and me spent the day wandering around- but the rest of us- well we thought if we played it off as a joke and got you to forget the whole thing gradually, that if a little time went by and you cooled down a bit, you wouldn’t really care anymore.” He sighs, finally looking up to give his friend a tired look, “Well, guess things didn’t go exactly according to plan.”

Bruce takes the time to consider him in silence for another few seconds, taking in the guilty but unapologetic look in the archer’s eyes, before turning back to look at the double doors of the kitchen as Peter comes rushing back with a sheet of paper in hand. “And now?” he asks, giving Peter a soft smile.

Clint snorts, also turning in his seat so he can grin and wink at the boy, “ I don’t know about the others,” He mutters under his breath so the scientist is the only one who can hear him, his grin not wavering, “But I’m joining the ‘Protect the Smol Snack Stealer’ club.

“STOP CALLING HIM THAT.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo…. How was it? Hope u all enjoyed and plz plz plz review? I really wanna know what you guys think and honestly, I’m not above shamelessly begging for reviews if that’s what it takes, because I was serious when I said I’m a shitty, extremely insecure author that tends to overthink things for too long and sulk so much she abandons stories, and I rly LOVE this fic and don’t wanna leave it unfinished, so plz? Review?
> 
> Peter’s nails and his overreaction to Bruce and Clint finding out about his past will be explained later in the story, so don’t worry about that! (EDIT: NO HE ISN'T A STRIPPER GUYS CALM DOWN)
> 
> Everyone who wants to chat: sorry, but FF . net drives me crazy when I try to answer the reviews, so maybe come over to AO3? Or I can give everyone my Tumblr account too I guess. Don’t remember the name rn, but I’ll try to put it on next chap if u guys want me to?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I LOVE U GUYSSSSS. Just- thank u. thank u everyone for the lovely reviews. U guys made my day.
> 
> (PLEASE READ): I started a Tumblr just for this story. For now I mostly put my writing process, what u should expect in the next chap and stuff like that, but I’m also working on some little comics that I’ll post later, so Idk? It’d nice if u follow it I guess?  
> The name is : Shit-wut-was-the-fics-name-again
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shit-wut-was-the-fics-name-again

Peter leaves the restaurant with a take-out bag filled with his left-over food, an extra cheeseburger, and so much joy and happiness it overflows the bag and spills all over his face, painting the biggest smile in the universe on it.

Clint and Bruce stay back and wave at him as he walks away with a sprint in his step, not realizing just how much good they’ve done, not knowing they’ve done something Peter’s friends have been trying (and failing) to do for ages now, that they’ve put not only a real smile but one of _those_ smiles (those that belonged to before the whole homeless thing and get rarer and rarer with each passing day, those that made not only his eyes but the whole room lit up, those that were reserved for Aunt May and Uncle Ben only) on Peter’s face.

So they just stand there, Bruce with a soft smile of his own and Clint with a grin, and watch him disappear without noticing that this one smile is something priceless and rare.  That it’s something _special_. Because this is Peter, and the Peter they know smiles all the time. He smiles when you explain a complex science theory to him, grins when you draw a smiley face on his cheeseburger with ketchup, and even laughs out loud when you make stupid bird puns in front him, so of course he also smiles when one of his dreams comes true and he gets the chance to study with his role model.

And they’re not _wrong_ because yes, Peter does smile all the time, a lot more than is expected from someone in his situation and more than he should probably, and all that cheer isn’t _faked;_ but the thing is no matter how wide the grin stretches across his lips or how loud and clear his laugh rings, there’s always something, sometimes the blinding pain of a still bleeding wound, sometimes the dull ache of hunger, and sometimes just this heavy feeling in his chest that reaches up and squeezes his throat shut, that dampens his joy. It doesn’t taint the brightness of his smile, doesn’t kill the light in his eyes, but dims it enough that someone who knows Peter well can the tell difference.

And right now, Peter is going to meet someone who can.

He finds Thomas lurking in the shadows in their usual meeting place, the same dead-end they met in for the first time and then kept going back to whenever they got separated, leaning back on the wall and waiting for him with a black backpack slung over one shoulder.  

“You’re early,” The older boy says in an impassive voice, not looking up from the knife he’s using to pick at his nails with, “I expected to have to wait for at least another twenty minutes before you’re done talking the poor scientist’s head o-” He falters, surprise flashing on his face as he finally lifts his head and takes in Peter’s joyful state. He hasn’t seen the boy so happy in ages, not since the time he handed him the green jacket at least. (Or perhaps, happy is a poor word to use, because he’s seen Peter _happy_. Seen him smile and laugh every day for the better part of two years, been the reason for his joy most of those times even, but hasn’t seen him so… _untroubled_ lately.)

The flushed cheeks and the beaming smile, he is used to; the absence of the hidden pain in his eyes, he’s not.

He decides he likes it.

“I see that you had fun,” He says, giving the boy a soft smile of his own which although much smaller, is no less genuine.

Peter nods his head rapidly, practically vibrating with glee as he rushes to tell his friend everything about his day. “ _It was the best day of my life_! Dr. Banner and Hawkeye- they said they’d give me lunch as a way of thanking me for helping out Dr. Benner the other day- which by the way, I still don’t understand. I mean he gave me snacks, right? Why’d he need to thank me again?- Anyway as I was saying we were gonna get lunch and Dr. Banner wanted to go to a homemade restaurant so I could eat something healthy but Hawkeye jumped in and saved the day like a _real-life_ superhero and I mean, I _know_ he’s technically a real superhero, but it’s soooo different meeting him in person you know? He’s cooler and has these sick shades and makes bad puns and- Anyway we went to this really nice place and met this lady who gave us free onion rings and captain America plastic cups and I was like ‘wow this must be a dream’ because Dr. Banner and Hawkeye _and_ captain America cups in one day? Just unrealistic. Anyway I was having lots of fun but then I fucked up and let it slip that I used to be a thief and I was scared out of mind and thought they’d hand me over to the Police or something but then Dr. Banner said it’s okay because he _understands_ , and then he said he’ll show up at the library to help me with science and stuff and we even set up a date and a place _and can you believe it Thomas I’m going to learn chemistry from The greatest scientist EVER.”_

“How did you say that all in one breath without suffocating?” Thomas asks, a rare dumbfound expression on his face before his brain finally catches up with his ears and his eyes go wide, “Wait, _WHAT_?”

The little shit has the nerve to smile at him like he didn’t just dump a literal ton of jumbled information on him and left him to try to make sense of it, “Hawkeye saved me from death by evil organic food and instead got me two cheeseburgers!”

“And probably left you to an earlier demise by a heart attack caused by the amount of junk food you consume. I got that.” The older boy says, giving him a dirty look, “I meant that part with Doctor Banner.”

Peter frowns, tilting his head innocently “The part he implied he’s had a similar past to my own and said it’s okay that I used to steal?“

“For the no- sake of God, Peter!” Thomas snaps in an irritated voice, glaring at him, “Although you letting such information slip out is something we’ll have to discuss later and their reaction is certainly interesting, I think it’d be best to focus on the more important parts. And by that, I mean the last part of your rant, not the Captain America cups or inion rings: What on earth do you mean Doctor Banner is going to help you with science and stuff?”

The brunet gives him a confused look, not understanding why his friend sounds so frantic instead of happy, “He said he’ll come to the library to help me study some of the harder… stuff…“ He trails off, eyes widening in realization as he takes a double take at Thomas, “You don’t think I’m replacing you do you?” he blurts out, giving his friend a wide look.

“What?” Thomas blinks, sounding taken aback, “replacing me?”

Peter nods frantically, voice cracking as he rushes to explain everything to his supposedly hurt and betrayed friend, “I swear I’m not cheating on you with Dr. Banner! You’ll forever be my best friend and favorite teacher. Dr. Banner is just like, a random knowledgeable adult. I mean yeah sure he’s the greatest scientist alive and his research is amazing and he’s the definition of brilliant, so what? I’m not trading you for him. I just know that you don’t really like science all that much and he offered to help me so I thought I could learn chemistry and stuff like that from him while you teach me everything else.”

“Cheating on me with Dr. Banner- Why must you always talk so weird?” Thomas sighs, giving him a longsuffering look (and well, if there’s more fondness in his gaze than irritation, then it’s just like all the other looks he’s given the boy since the day they met) “But no, that’s not what I’m concerned about. There are much more serious matters to worry about.”

Peter’s brows furrow, and the other remarks with regret that the pure joy in his eyes has disappeared a long time ago, “Like?”

Like the fact that there’s no reason for two of the Avengers to get close to a street kid, and yet they are. That a man like Dr. Banner certainly has better things to do than to spend his days at a small library trying to help a kid with his ‘school’ work, and still this is what he chooses. That Peter’s secret might already be out in the open, or will be soon if this goes on for long.

(That there’s another secret that might be revealed, this one Thomas’s, and that it can ruin everything they’ve built.)

“Like the simple truth that that man Barton is a danger to both of us,” Thomas says, pointing to the takeout bag Peter is holding, “Because those cheeseburgers are the definition of unhealthy, and the amount of grease in one is enough to take five years off your lifespan.”

Later, Thomas would curse himself to hell and back for this moment alone, for his cowardliness and selfishness and inability to watch Peter be sad for more than a few seconds, even if it’s for the betterment of them both; but for now, he only waits for the smile to once again appear on the teen’s face and lets it calm his panic a bit.  

“You dramatic jackass!” Peter cries, trying hard to glare at him but failing remarkably, “You scared me! I thought it was something serious!”

“I don’t know,” Thomas says, looking away to hide his own soft smile. There’s a limit on the amount of emotions he’s ready to express on one day, and he passed that at least five minutes ago, “I’d say a heart attack is a serious enough matter to be concerned about.”

The brunet glares again, but the pout on his face really ruins the angry image he’s going for. “That’s what Doctor Banner said,” He huffs after a few seconds of failed angry scowling, “Maybe you should’ve come with us today. I bet you two would’ve got along.”

“Yes.” The other says, trying to keep his voice steady, “maybe we would’ve. But then I couldn’t go meet your dealer, and you’d still be out of web fluid.”

“Not my deal- The web fluid!” Peter exclaims, rushing forward to grab the backpack Thomas throws at him before plopping himself down on the ground, “I totally forgot! Did you get all the ingredients?”

“Better than that.” The older says, taking out two filled web shooters out of his pocket, “I already made the mix for you.”

Peter looks at him with wide, thankful eyes, “You’re seriously the best,”

“I know,” Thomas says, passing the gadgets over. “Now get ready. Tomorrow is a library day, so if you want to go on a patrol, now’s the best time.”

“Okay!” Peter cries, already struggling out of his clothes.

The other leans back on the wall, an amused smirk on his face as he watches the boy try to put on the mask and pull up his suit at the same time, “try not to break your web shooters again and don’t tear more than four holes on the suit this time, we really don’t have the money for spare parts. Oh and don’t shatter the mask’s lenses if possible. Can you get the nails yourself or do I have to do them for you?”

“I got it.” Peter says, not looking up from the gear he’s strapping on his hands, “And make fun of my nails once again and I’ll scratch you with them. We’ll see how funny their length is then.”

The smug smirk doesn’t leave the raven’s face, but he shuts up.

“Okay! I think I’m ready!” the younger boy announces five minutes later, jumping to his feet and holding up his hands for the other to see, “And yes, I got everything. No, I don’t need you to check. Yes, I’m sure. No, the web-shooters aren’t upside dow-“

“Oh shut up.” Thomas scowls, grabbing the boy’s wrist to check for himself, “I just don’t want you to end up falling ten stories again because you forgot to fill them or something as equally stupid.” He says, turning the hand to check the other side, “Well, seems you got it right this time, but make sure not to use too much web fluid unless you wanna spend the rest of the month without webs. Be _extra_ careful not to make a fist with your left hand. That’s where the needles are and you really don’t want to prick yourself on them. Oh, and Remember the button shooting web fluid is on your palm while the other one is upper u-“

“Oh my god.” Peter groans, snatching his hand back, “Stop momming me! I designed the whole thing, I know how to use it! Honestly, you push the wrong button _once_ and no one ever lets you live it down. How many times do I have to say, it was an _accident_!”

“An accident that left you paralyzed for one whole day.”

“ _Still_ an accident.”

 “Just- be careful.” His friend sighs, massaging his temple. His mask of indifference is still in place, but after so long living with him, Peter can make out the worry in his eyes. Peter gulps down guilt losing his throat when he notices how dark the circle under the other’s eyes are, and wonders how much of it is his fault. “The last time you went out, I had to use seven rolls of bandage just to keep you from bleeding out. I don’t want a repeat of that, am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Peter says, rushing forward to give the other a quick hug before jumping back again. He’s not hurt that Thomas doesn’t return the hug, not anymore at least. He used to think it strange when the older boy froze each time Peter attempted any physical contact before, but by now he’s learned that his friend is just very, very bad with emotions. “Okay. I’ll be going now. See you later!”

“Be back before 2:00 a.m.!” Thomas shouts after him.

“Okay _mom_!” he shouts back, already climbing the wall and shooting a web as soon as he reaches the top, “Oh and- look in the takeout bag! We bought you a cheeseburger!”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s already swinging away.

From there on, it’s all a familiar routine. The joy of feeling the wind through his thin suit, the rush of adrenaline that comes with letting go, dropping, and then launching another web at the last possible second, the sense of freedom that he only feels while web-slinging through the city.

‘ _Oh God_ ,’ Peter thinks as he does a flip in mid-air, ‘ _I’d missed this_.’

If he could, he’d spend the rest of the afternoon just swinging around the city, doing nothing but have fun and try to catch up on the one week he’d spend without his webs, but that’s exactly how he ended up running out of the mix in the first place; so instead Peter regretfully lands on the roof of a building and does the rest of his patrol on foot.

It’s always so much slower without his webs, when he has to either walk or crawl around, but it also means he gets to interact with people more and stop smaller crimes. By the time night falls, Peter’s stopped two purse-snatcher, helped a little eight-year-old immigrant girl find her mom (thank god Thomas forced him to learn Italian a while ago, otherwise he’d have to stand around completely helpless like the two police officers she was trying to talk to), and saved a group of teenage girls from catcallers by dropping in front of the three men and thanking them for the compliments, acting as if they’d been cat-calling him. (Peter grimaces just remembering that. It didn’t go well at all, mostly because they _did_ start cat-calling him when he showed up, and he got so embarrassed he ended up webbing their mouths shut.)

Now he’s sitting on a roof, eating the jelly beans one of the girls gave him. They’d been very thankful and gentle, one of them even asking if he wanted to tag along and come to a party with them. ‘ _Just in case there are more douchebags who need their mouth webbed shut’_ she said. He turned them down, but told them to step on anyone’s feet who deserved it with their heels

(‘ _Punching them in the face does the trick too’_ Thomas had told him once, right after he’d kicked a man who got too handsy between the legs, ‘ _People usually can’t talk with a broken nose and a mouth full of blood._ ’)

It’s probably a good thing he didn’t tell them that though.

He stuffs the last of the jelly beans in his mouth, getting to his feet and dusting the suit off. “Well,” he says aloud, talking to no one, “This district seems calm enough so maybe I can have an early night to-“

The sound of gunshots cuts him off.

“Oh come on!” he groans, already shooting a web toward the direction the sounds came from, “Really?”

The only response he gets is the deafeningly loud noise of a shutter alarm going off.

Peter lands only a minute later, on the roof of a shop right in front of the gun store all the noise is coming from. “Oh come onnnnnn,” He groans when he sees five men in ski masks stealing firearms from the shattered storefront display, “At least show a little originality!”

The men whip around, guns raised. “Who was that?!” one of them shouts, “Show yourself!”

Peter complies, jumping off the roof and doing a flip in mid-air before landing. The men gasp, one of them raising a shaking hand to point at him, “Oh my god!” he exclaims, “That’s Daredevil!”

“Frank you blind bat!” one of his friends hisses, hitting him across the head, “Daredevil has little horns! That’s clearly Deadpool!”

Frank rubs the back of his head, mumbling, “It’s not my fault I don’t have my glasses…”

“I don’t think that’s Deadpool though,” Another man says, making a gesture as if stroking a beard, “Too small and scrawny. I say that’s Spider-man.”

“Are you sure that’s not spider-woman?” the fourth one asks, “It sounds like a girl.”

_EXCUSE YOU?!_

“No way!” The last burglar says, shaking his head rapidly, “too flat! It’s either Deadpool or Spiderman.”

“But how do we find out?” Frank asks, squeezing his eyes at him.

“We can shoot him and see if he dies?” one suggests.

“Or,” Peter raises his voice, getting tired of being talked about as if he’s not here, “you could just ask me?”

“I got it!” another shouts, completely ignoring him, “It’s their love child!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Peter mumbles, sprinting forward and punching the man straight in the face. He goes down like a sack of bricks.

“You little shit!” his friend, the one who’d called Peter a girl, launches towards him, his weapon raised. Peter jumps out of the way with a back walkover, knocking the gun out of the man’s hands with his foot in the process. “Wow, Look at _this_!” He says when he lands and snatches the gun out of the air, raising it to inspect it, “A Revolver! And it looks ancient too! I feel like I’m in a cowboy movie!”

“Give that back br-“ the man starts to say, but is cut off when Peter webs him in the face and then yanks the string, slamming his head into his raised fist. “That’s for making fun of my voice.” He tells him before letting go, making sure the man is out-cold before moving on.

Frank is the next one he goes for. The man squeezes at him for a few seconds before sighing loud, his shoulders dropping as he looks at his two fallen comrades, “I’d say I’m gonna kick your ass,” the man tells him, his voice tired, “But I can’t see shit, so just knock me out and move on?”

“I like you,” peter says, and then hits him with the barrel of the gun he stole from the other burglar, catching him when he falls and gently lowering him to the ground.

The remaining two man look at each other, nodding once before they both suddenly charge towards him, holding a knife and a gun respectively. “Now that’s unfair!” Peter shouts as he ducks, crouching low and sweeping the men’s legs from under them, “To you I mean. You should’ve done the group attack while there were still five of you.” The gun falls from the taller man’s grasp and Peter clutches it, throwing it hard so it hits him in the face. It doesn’t knock him out, but slows him enough that Peter can twist his body and trap him underneath his legs.

The one with the knife growls, launching forward to try to stab him in the thigh, “whoa now!” Peter says, grabbing the thief’s arm and twisting it till he lets go of his weapon, “Who the hell brings a _knife_ to a gunfight?! We’re all respectable American citizens here and we respect the laws. That means you bring the more destructive weapon so you can make the Police and superhero jobs harder! Honestly the disrespect! What’s next, is some uncultured brat going to throw _kinder eggs_ at me?”

“Shut up!” the man cries, struggling in his hold and trying to bite him.

“Now that’s not very poli- _argh_!”

Gun-man –who apparently wasn’t just gun-man – laughs, pushing the knife he’s just stabbed him with deeper. “I don’t know about kinder eggs,” he says, a sick sort of satisfaction in his voice, “But I say this is pretty destructive.”

The brunet jumps back, knife still stuck in his gut and wound bleeding. He grabs the weapon, clenching his teeth as he pulls it out. The knife comes free with a wet popping sound and Peter has to shut his eyes for a second to fight the dizziness in his head. “You can’t carry that,” he grits out, trying to keep his voice steady, “The blade is more than four inches long.”

“Still funny.” The other man, the original Knife-guy, grins; showing off his yellow teeth.

“Oh well, what can I say I w-“ just then, his Spidey sense starts to scream in his head, and Peter ducks just in time to avoid being shot in the shoulder.

“Holy shit!” a guy cries, and Peter curses himself when he notices the guy he knocked out first has gotten up and managed to sneak behind him without him noticing. “How did he see that?!”

“Oh don’t you know?” Peter mumbles, running toward the guy and webbing his face before yanking twice, slamming it into the wall behind them a little harder than necessary. He’s more pissed off that he’s willing to admit. The fight is dragging on for too long, and the wound in his gut is another problem entirely. It’s not deep enough to be lethal and his healing factor will take care of it in a day, but it’s just another hole on his already tattered suit and also something Thomas would worry about. “I’m a spider! We have four pairs of eyes and-“ he whirls around, ducking to dodge the kick the Not-really-Gun-Guy has aimed at his head, “One of them is on our back.”

he sends the guy back with a hard kick to the chest, watching him collide with a wall before turning to face the last standing man. He sees to be having second thoughts after seeing his friend being thrown so far with a kick. “Well?” he asks him, tilting his head to the side, “You gonna make a run for it or something?

The last burglar growls, showing his teeth, “I’m not afraid of a bug.”

“Oh my god!” Peter exclaims, throwing his arms in the air, “I’m not a bug! I’m an arachnid! Seriously what were you guys doing in biology class?”

The guy doesn’t answer, instead rushing toward him with his knife raised. “Where do all these knives come from anyway?” Peter asks as he sidesteps the attack, “I’m pretty sure I just knocked yours out of your hand!”

“Shut up!” the man sneers, once again launching toward him.

The sound of police sirens echoes through the night.

“Finally!” Peter mutters, and then once again turns to face the man, “Not that I’m not having fun.” He tells him as he dodges another blow, “But it’s getting late and I have a curfew tonight,” and with that, he jumps in the air, landing on the unsuspecting guy’s shoulders and stabbing one extremely sharp nail into his neck, pushing the button on his second knuckle with his thumb.

He’s gone in the next second, a safe distance from the guy and with his arms crossed in front of his chest as he waits for the effects to kick in.

“What the fuc-“ the guy screams, holding his hands to his neck, “You crazy brat what did you just-“ and then his eyes bulge out, his voice getting stuck in his throat as his muscles spasm and his body freezes. He lets out a choking voice and falls face first down on the ground.

“One more thing about spiders,” Peter says, a hint of smugness in his voice as he gets closer and crouches next to the guy, holding up his left hand to show off his most dangerous weapon. Even with the thin fabric of the suit covering his fingers, the sharp edges of his nails are still obvious, and so is the needles sticking out of them now that he has his thumb on the right button, “we’re kinda venomous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you guys start asking me if Pete just killed them: NO. They’re just paralyzed. It will be explained more in the next chapter and also I may post a thing in my Tumblr explaining the poison and how it works more if the next chap doesn’t convince you. 
> 
> Please please please review cuz the next few chapters and the time of update will be directly linked to the response I get from this and I also really worked my ass off to write this, so please? Tell me what you think?
> 
> And also, it was my first time ever writing action…so uh… how did I do?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK U EVERYONE FOR UR SUPPORT. I LOVE U GUYSSSSSS. like srsly. u have no idea how much each review means to me.
> 
>  
> 
> Plz comment? plzzzzz?
> 
> Enjoy~

Once the last burglar is down, Peter makes fast work of injecting the rest of them with the poison. He goes from one to the other, nicking them with the needles and giving them each a shot but making sure not to stab them with his nails like he did the other man. Speaking of it, that wasn’t a very nice thing to do. Maybe he should leave him an apology letter?

“What are you doing?” A voice asks, and Peter turns to see Frank trying to stand, leaning back against the wall of the store they were trying to rob. He’s looking at him with unfocused eyes, sounding more curious than angry at Peter for ruining their plans. “I thought Spider-man didn’t kill people?”

“I don’t.” Peter says, a little insulted. Frank raises an eyebrow, pointing to the man he first injected with the venom. He’s lying face down on the ground, making angry gurgled noises as his body is racked with shudders.

“He’s not _dying_.” Peter insists, looking at the man worriedly. It wasn’t even that strong of a poison (It’s not like he used the contents of his index finger or –god forbid- middle finger on him) but considering the man was a normal human with no extra training or enhanced body, he probably should’ve given him a smaller dose. “It’s just a paralyzing poison. He’ll pass out in a minute or so.”

“It looks like it hurts.” Frank remarks, still not taking his eyes off the twitching form of the other man, “Really can’t wait for my turn.”

Peter lets out a frustrated noise, angry at himself for getting carried away and also at the burglars because this is _all_ their fault, “It doesn’t hurt- okay fine it _does_. But only a little bit and anyway you guys _stabbed_ me! Be glad I’m just poking you with a needle!” He says, pointing to the wound on his side. His healing factor is taking care of it, but it’s still bleeding sluggishly. Crap, it should be deeper than he first assumed. “And anyway, I’m not giving you guys the same thing I gave him. Look, I’m using my pinky finger. This one is weaker. It’ll just make your body go numb so you can’t make a run for it till the police show up.” He crouches down, feeling oddly guilty when the man flinches at the poke of the needle. He waits for the effects to kick in before helping him to a more comfortable position, wondering if the burglar would freak out about his sudden paralysis. Strangely enough, Frank doesn’t seem to mind much, seeming more fascinated with his lack of ability to move his limbs than pissed off.

“Weird.” He mumbles after a few failed attempts to wiggle his fingers.

“I know.” Peter says apologetically, “I’d tie you up with my webs, but I’m not supposed to use them too much. Like seriously, you have _no_ idea how expensive these stuff are.” He gets to his feet, dusting the suit off, “Don’t worry though, the poison will wear off in a few hours, no after effects. Your… uh, Your friend is another story though.” He adds, pointing to the first man he immobilized, “He’ll wake up tomorrow around noon, most likely with a terrible headache. Say sorry to him for me but tell him it’s his own fault for trying to stab me. twice.”

“That wasn’t nice.” Frank agrees.

“Yeah it wasn-“

“To be honest,” the man continues, acting as if Peter hasn’t said anything, “I’m not even sure why he did that. We weren’t supposed to harm you. Just to make you jump around for a bit so that weird old guy could observe your skills.”

“What do you mean observe m- wait, what weird old guy?”

“That one” Frank says, staring straight at the space behind Peter’s back.

Peter whips around and sure enough, there’s a weird old guy standing behind him. He looks like he’s in his late sixties, with salt and pepper hair and nails and lips that are painted blue. He’s wearing mirror sunglasses for some reason even though it’s completely dark outside, and has a black top hat and a designer leather jacket pulled over a shiny golden dress. Peter wonders how he didn’t notice his approach, seeing that it’s impossible to blend in with such colorful clothes.

“Hey!” the old man says, raising a hand to wave at him, “You’re the, um, what was it again, spider boy, right?  Or-or is it spider-girl? I can never, uh, really tell with your species. You’re, you’re male right?”

For some strange reason, Peter’s Spidey sense is screeching as though he’s standing in the middle of a burning building about to collapse on top of him. He gulps, fighting the instincts screaming at him to run and hide. He doesn’t get what has triggered this reaction. The guy seems harmless enough and a quick glance confirms that he’s most probably unarmed; but that does little to calm Peter down. His Spidey sense is screaming bloody murder in his head, getting louder and louder the more time he spends in the man’s company.

The old man frowns when Peter remains silent, turning to look at one of the also-strangely-dressed goons standing behind him.  “uh- why, why is he not talking?” he says, waving his hands towards Peter, “he was- he was talking just now right? Can’t he, uh, understand me? Is the all-speak not working? Should I- should I poke him with my stick?"

He moves towards Peter, raising his weird looking cane, and Peter’s Spidey sense screeches so loud he’s sure even the others can hear it. He jumps back, sticking to a wall and crouching there, body trembling for some reason.

“Wow!” the old guy whistles, letting go of his cane to clap happily, “That was amazing. Can- can you do it once more?”

“ _Who are you_?” Peter asks, voice cracking as he tries to breathe through the panic closing his throat. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him but his ears are ringing, his breath coming in gasps as his common sense tries fruitlessly to get him to calm down because there’s no danger here while his Spidey sense shrieks at him to _runhidejust **getaway** can’t you see how much more powerful he is??!!_

“He talks!” the man says to his companions, sounding happy with the new revelation; then turns to Peter and once again smiles at him, “Sorry. I got a little, uh, carried away and forgot to introduce myself. My name is the Grandmaster.”

Peter tries to calm himself, taking deep breaths and crawling a little higher on the wall he’s crouching on. Even through the haze of panic, his mind is going a million miles a minute, trying to figure out what’s going on. There’s something about the grandmaster that seems familiar to him, which is just stupid because there’s no way he’d forget someone this remarkable if they’d met even once, but there’s still something about his…

“Hey- hey spider boy! Oh dear. Did he- did he go offline again? I thought he’s supposed to introduce himself back?” 

…voice.

It clicks then. “You’re one of the guy’s chasing Dr. Banner!”

“Dr. Banner…? Uh you mean the green beast! Yeah, yeah I was!” The man’s face lights up, “We, uh, almost had him too before you dragged him away! What a bummer!” He says, giving him a grin. There’s nothing dangerous in his tone, no hidden threat or anger, but it still makes shivers run down Peter’s spine.

“What do you want with me?” he says slowly, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“Uh yeah. I was just getting to that.” The Grandmaster says, holding up a finger “I have a Freakshow. I want you to join.”

Peter blinks once, then does it again and then once more for good measures. Did the man just tell him to join a _circus_?

“Sorry, _what_?”

The old man ignores him, continuing as if uninterrupted, “Now, I, uh, understand if that’s a huge change for you, but it’s really worth it. We feed you three- no four times a day. And I can get as much of that, uh, sticky thing you shoot out your hand, whatever that is, for you. So what- what do you say?”

“What?!” Peter repeats.

“Great!” the man says, clapping, “So I give you, uh, how about two weeks? Yeah two weeks to pack and say your goodbyes. Then you’ll come with me.” He waves a hand, turning to go, “It’s so great to do business with intelligent life forms. I’d offer the- the green beast the same deal, but I doubt he’d have the brains to understand me. Anyway, see you!”

“Wait!” peter shouts, “I didn’t agree to come anywhere with you!”

The man turns to face him again, blinking (at least that’s what Peter assumes he does, no way to tell with the sunglasses), “You didn’t?” He asks, scratching his chin, “Oh well, it’s not like you, uh, really have a choice, but I still give you two weeks before I come for you. Think it over for now, yeah? I’ll send someone to, uh, fetch you then. I’d love to stick around till then, but I’m- I’m kinda on a time limit. You see, there’s this little ‘thief’-…” He says, doing air quotes with his hands, “…that I have to catch up to. He, uh, stole this shiny rock I really liked from right under my nose, so I had to let go of, well, _everything_ and come search for him.” he says, running a hand through his hair, “So, uh, yeah. Can’t wait for you. Have to go- go find this guy. Give him what he deserves.”

“I won’t let you kill anyone.” Peter blurts out, and then feels the strongest urge to hit himself repeatedly in the face because he can practically _hear_ Thomas yelling at him for being an idiot.

“Kill? No, no, why- why would I _kill_ him?” the grandmaster asks, sounding truly shocked, “No, I want to- to reward him! He played me _so_ well. You see, I have this, uh, ability, I can read thoughts, and he- he managed to fake even _those_! I kept him around cuz he was charming and good at chess, let him get close cuz I thought he had this hilarious plan to, uh, _overthrow_ me or something and thought it’s funny, turns out I was the one being played.” he says, a genuinely happy grin on his face, “No one had beat me in literal ages. Now I wanna- I _have to_ find him and ask him to come back. We can play games all day. Do you think- do you think he’d come back if I offer him the- the… the rest of the infinity stones?”

Peter has no idea what they’re talking about anymore, so he just blinks down at the man. He’s becoming more and more certain he’s insane with each passing second.

“Maybe?” He chocks out when it becomes clear the other is expecting a response.

“I might need to visit my brother.” The Grandmaster mumbles to himself before once again smiling at Peter. The boy curls into himself, trying to lean as far away as he possibly can without it looking obvious, “So I, uh, need to go now. Go find Loki. He’s not- not here. There’s no trace of his magic or Ego. It was a shoot in the dark from the start anyway. You see, this guy, he’s a, um, a _prince_. There’s no way he’d be satisfied with this world’s dull things. Not- not shiny enough for him.” he says, gesturing with his hands, “I’m so glad I came to your planet though. I mean look at these! All these years I was stuck on Sakaar with this _boring_ robes, now this is- this is what I call fashion!” he says, pointing to his outfit. “There are just so many- so many new ideas. I learned about the freak show here too you know? I used to have this, uh, thing where I had my champions fight, but that’s so _old._ A circus is a much better idea.”

Peter thinks they’re both equally awful if the man has to _force_ people to join, but it’s probably wise not to voice that opinion; so he just stays where he is and keeps silent. He doesn’t dare move, his usual sarcasm and sharp tongue lost somewhere in the middle of all the panic filling his chest. It’s the exact opposite of his usual response to stress, when he just keeps cracking more jokes, but this time it’s like he’s lost his voice and all his wit along with it. He feels like he’s talking to a ticking bomb, and it might be a bomb covered in golden wrapping paper and glitter, but still a _bomb_ and it can go off any second with him standing too close to it.

The old man doesn’t seem to care about his silence this time, simply raising a hand to scratch his head before he continues with his speech, “So, uh, yeah. You have two- yeah, two weeks to get ready. I’ll- I’ll send someone for you then.” He turns to go, his goons giving Peter one last glare before they too follow him, “It was nice seeing you spiderbo- Oh wait! I almost forgot!” he turns once again, clutching his cane as he walks forward to loom over the man Peter recognizes as the one who stabbed him. “This is for, uh, harming Grandmaster’s soon-to-be property.” He tells the unconscious form, lowering the cane and touching it to the robber’s back.

The man’s eyes snap open, his mouth opening in an agonizing scream as his body starts to melt into a mix of grey and red liquid. Peter hears Frank scream and is pretty sure he’s screaming too, watching a human being turn into a puddle of goo in less than a minute. He watches in horror, the loud screeches deafening him and the smell making his eyes water, and finally understands why his senses have been so frantically warning him of danger since he showed up.

“Ew, ew, that’s- that’s disgusting!” the old man says, trying to gather his dress in his hands so it doesn’t get dirty, “You humans- even worse than cousin Carlo. Smell way worse too. Anyway-“ he looks at Peter, not the smallest amount of remorse visible on his face. “Like I said, two weeks. It was fun, but I really have to go now. I- I’ll let those funny guys with their beeping, blinking cars in now. They’ve been trying to get through for some time.”

He turns to go and Peter stays frozen where he is, waiting for him to change his mind and once again return, this time to kill the rest of them too; but the man only stops once to give him a little wave before he’s gone.

The boy almost falls to the ground when the grandmaster vanishes from sight, the sudden absence of the screaming in his head making him feel dizzy. The night seems so much quieter now that his Spidey sense has finally calmed down, but now there are other noises taking its place.

There’s the sound of Police sirens, way too close for him not to have noticed before, and also a lot of shouting and the echo of running footsteps closing in. Peter takes a deep breath, not wasting more than a second to make sure Frank is alright before he shoots a web and flees the scene.

He crashes to the ground just three streets away.

It’s not a landing, it’s a fall. There’s nothing in his mind when he lets go of the strand, no thought of launching a second web when he’s close enough to the ground, nothing controlled about the way his feet collide with the ground and buckle under his weight, leaving him gasping on all fours. It’s a crash by all means, an ugly drop from a height high enough to break bones.

And maybe it does, if the sudden white-hot pain in the left side of his body is anything to go by, but Peter doesn’t care about that.

He’s been on the streets for more than two years, been Spiderman for the better half of that time, and gotten into fights for even longer. He’s no stranger to pain. He’s lived through stab wounds, kept fighting with a broken wrist and a dislocated shoulder, and dug out bullets out of his body by himself.

He can bear a sprained ankle and a few jammed fingers.

But he can’t deal with the fear still coursing through his body, the tightness in his chest that closes his throat and doesn’t let him breathe; the sudden, crushing weight of failure pressing down on him and the voice chanting in his ear, reminding him of how badly he screwed up.

Peter has super strength, agility, a healing factor and a list of other extraordinary abilities that goes on and on. Powers that should help him save people. Powers that warn him of danger. Powers that told him there’s something wrong with the crazy old guy and his cane the moment he showed up. ( _Powers the man that just got murdered in front of his eyes didn’t have-)_

What good are those if instead of aiding him help people, they make him stay rooted to the spot and watch as someone is murdered in front of his eyes?

A small part of his mind, the part that has a habit of spitting nonsense, tries to convince him that it’s not his fault. That there’s a reason his senses were screaming as they were, that he didn’t have the slightest chance of fighting against that man because there was obviously more to him than met the eye, that he should be glad he’s not the one who’s dead; but Peter stopped listening to that little liar when it first said it wasn’t his fault Aunt May and Uncle Ben died, so he doesn’t pay it any mind now either.

Because it _is_ his fault.

He could’ve tried to distract the old guy, steal his cane the moment he knew something was wrong with it. Could’ve pretended to agree to go with him to get his attention off the men. Or at the very least, could’ve tried to stop him after he killed the robber so he couldn’t harm anyone else.

But what did he do?

He clutched to the wall like his life depended on it till the Grandmaster was gone and then _ran_.

And now he’s on all fours in a dirty alley, trying to support his weight on shaking limbs and struggling to breathe because there’s so much guilt and fear in his chest, there’s no room left for air.

It’s a pathetic sight, really. Here Peter is, at least one hour late to his ‘curfew’, nursing a stab wound and a couple of bruised bones, and wearing a suit that has in fact, been torn again.

Thomas is going to actually kill him this time.

It’s not a very comforting thought, but strangely enough does help ground him. It doesn’t calm his racing heart or make his eyes any less wet, but at least slaps him out of his miserable thought and gets him to move. He pushes himself upright, wobbling on shaky legs and almost face planting the moment he puts his weight on his bad ankle, only to catch himself on the wall in the last second.

He still ends up face first on the ground, because this time he gripped the wall with all of his three jammed fingers and the sudden pain was enough to make him gasp and cradle his hand to his chest. (Which, you guessed it, means he lost the very grip holding him up and once again crashed ungracefully to the ground.)

Peter is really having a bad day right no-

“PETER PARKER! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

Like he said, a bad day.

Peter doesn’t bother raise his head, lying on the ground limply as he hears rapid footsteps nearing his location. Maybe if he pretends to be dead-…

But nope, too late, the person is already kneeling next to him, gentle hands turning him on his back. Peter looks up and meets worried ice-blue eyes gazing down at him, the soft color turning darker and darker with each visible injury found.  

Peter looks down at himself too, noticing with surprise that the stab wound is still bleeding. That’s strange now. With the fight over and the adrenalin finally out of his system, he feels a little light-headed, but even with the dizziness clouding his thoughts he’s pretty sure the wound should’ve stopped bleeding by now. It couldn’t have been that deep, right?

“What’s the damage?” Thomas asks. He’s all about business, voice calm and face emotionless; but Peter can make out the concealed concern and anger deep in his eyes.

“Uh…” peter wets his lips, fighting back the wooziness so he can think, “stab wound, sprained ankle, a couple of jammed fingers… thankfully nothing broken. Oh and almost definitely a concussion.”

“What did you do?!” the other hisses, losing his calm.

“I fell?” The brunet tries weakly.

“And landed on a _knife_ I assume.”

“I got stabbed and then I fell.” He amends.

Thomas sighs, looking to the sky as if silently asking for patience, “How many jammed fingers are we talking about?” he asks, the calm once again back to his voice.

“Uh…two?”

“Three it is,” the older says, pushing himself to his feet, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Peter has no trouble following that order. Actually, he isn’t sure if he can move even if he wants to. He knows it’s nothing, that after a good night rest he’d be back on his feet, but for now he can do nothing but lie limply on the ground and stare at the sky above, silently thinking back to his encounter with the crazy man. What did he mean he’d come back for him in two weeks? What should Peter _do_?

He doesn’t know the answer to that, but knows that thinking hurts his head, so he abandons the issue altogether and leaves it for a later time. For now he just wants to rest, close his eyes for a bit maybe…

Peter doesn’t know when he falls asleep, only that he’s awakened by Thomas gently shaking him in what feels like three seconds tops. He groans, barely cracking his eyes open as he tries to push him away, “wa..?”

“Raise your hands.” Thomas says, “The bleeding has stopped but I have to treat the wounds still.”

Peter just wants to be left alone, but nods and follows his friend’s lead as he helps him change out of the suit and slip back into his own clothes. It’s an agonizingly slow process, but they manage to get through it together. Peter slumps back down when it’s done, already drained of energy after completing such a simple task.

Thomas doesn’t comment on his state, simply opening his black backpack and emptying it on the ground. Peter groans when he sees the pile of medical supplies on the ground, “Where did you _get_ those?”

“I stole them from the pharmacy around the corner. Don’t worry, I didn’t threaten them with my knife. No one even saw me.” 

Peter sighs, looking away, “You do know I’m Spiderman right? I’m supposed to stop theft, not participate in it.”

Thomas shrugs, not sounding very guilty as he grabs Peter’s face and shines a flashlight in his eyes. Peter thinks it’s a bit of a cruel move, because he remembers this flashlight. It’s one bitter but useful reminder of the days he was in the business himself, “the rules only state that I’m not allowed to threaten somebody to take their money, stealing without being noticed isn’t a problem.”

“You know I only put that rule there because controlling others would be impossible without it, right?”

“Of course I know,” the older boy says, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips, “I came up with it.” He falls silent then, continuing on with his examination. “Headache?”

“One hell of it.”

“Do you think you can stand?”

“I can try,” the brunet shrugs, “but I’ll probably end up losing my lunch. Actually I might still end up losing it even if I don’t move.”

“Yeah thought so. Definitely a concussion.” Thomas sighs, putting the flashlight on the ground only to pick up a bottle of saline. Peter closes his eyes after that. There’s no need to look if he knows what’s coming up next. “I need to clean the wound now.”

He shrugs, “Okay.”

“This will hurt,” Thomas warns him and then pours the saline into the open wound.

It stings, it hurts, it burns _bad_ , but it’s not unbearable. Peter keeps his eyes closed, breathing heavily as Thomas works. The disinfecting process is done not too long after that, and then there’s the part they both hate the most.

There’s the sound of gauze tearing and he hears his friend take a deep breathe before something wet is slowly being pushed into his wound, filling where the knife had been before. It’s painful and agonizingly slow and just plain _weird_ and Peter hates every. Second. Of. it.

He should really stop getting stabbed all the time.

“It’s done.” Thomas says about five minutes later, after he’s placed a square gauze on the wound and taped it in place. “Now the ankle. And then the fingers, and then I’m going to kill you. What were you _thinking_?”

Peter groans. He’s tired. Tired and _stabbed_. Can’t this wait? “Technically I didn’t do anything-“

“Yes, you just decided that you like the ground so much you couldn’t wait long enough to land and let go of your web to greet it faster! What on earth was _that_?!”

God- he _saw_ that?

“How long have you been here? Wait- How did you know where I am?”

Thomas glares at him, “Oh I don’t know? I was just coming to find and kick your ass for being late when I heard police sirens coming from this direction and saw a blue and red figure swinging away and was like ‘Now who could that be’?” he huffs, pulling the wrapping around his ankle a little too roughly; only to quickly let go and look at him guilty when he winces, “Peter I was watching. I saw you let go and drop! I thought you’d _died_.”

“I’m- I’m sorry.” The brunet says. Finally understating why the older boy looks so pissed.  “I felt- maybe it was the blood loss. I was scared. There was this gu-“

_Don’t tell him._

The thought is sudden, tangible like a physical blow to the head. It hits him like a hammer, cutting off his speech. He blinks, not sure what has caused the thought. _Of course_ he should tell him. This is Thomas, the person who has more or less raised him for the last two years, the only one who can hel-

_DON’T TELL HIM._

And it’s back again, this time strong enough to make him jolt. Peter gasps, trying to gather his thoughts. He’s not sure if it’s his Spidey sense or not, but it’s too strong to just be a gut feeling.

Thomas is still looking at him questionably, waiting for an answer with a hint of suspicion in his eyes. Peter doesn’t know what to do. The logical thing is to come clean about everything. About the grandmaster and his magic cane and the deal –if you can call it that-, but he’s learned a long time ago to trust his gut/ Spidey sense, and it’s never even been this strong before.

“This-this guy that stabbed me. It was the pain I think. I had a- a flashback.”

Thomas’s face softens, his blue eyes filling with sadness and anger directed at everyone other than him. Peter gulps and looks away, feeling tremendously guilty for lying about something like this, but it’s the only thing that will stop the rapid-fire questions that are sure to follow if he comes up with any other story.

Thomas looks away, nodding once before he lets the whole thing go and goes back to patching him up.

“Okay. It’s done.” He says sometime later, sitting back, “There’s not much else I can do. We can only hope your healing factor takes care of the rest. Which reminds me…” he pauses, digging into the backpack and taking out a brown package, holding it out to Peter, “Eat.”

Peter recognizes the paper bag, “No,” he says, pushing it away, “That’s yours. I’m not taking your share. Not _again_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thomas scowls, pushing it back towards him, “You’re not taking my share. You know very well that I simply don’t like bur-“

“Yeah you don’t like burger, or hotdog, or pizza, of beef sandwich, or scrambled eggs or chicken or any other damn thing we find. It’s not like you’re just trying to give me a bigger portion or anything, you just hate every. Single. Food. we come across.” Peter spats from between clenched teeth, struggling not to raise his voice, “Why do you always give me your share? I told you I ate two cheeseburgers today. How did you _possibly_ hear that and thought ‘Oh yeah I should starve myself and keep this one for Peter too! Because that’s oh so very logical!”

Thomas stares at him for a few seconds, then sighs and drops his face in his hands, “Do you want to keep being Spiderman?” He finally asks, looking up and staring at him with serious eyes.

“What.” Peter blinks, caught off- guard. That’s not the reaction he expected. “What does that have to-“

“Answer me.” The older boy snaps.

“Yeah- yeah of course.” Peter says.

“Then you will take every food I give you and not complain- No, let me talk. Your powers, especially the healing factor and super-strength, are directly depended on the amount of food you consume. Not to mention you have a super metabolism. Giving you the bigger share isn’t about keeping you fed Peter, It’s about keeping you _alive_. The food is what makes you strong enough to fight. It’s the food that made that bruise on your jaw that had been there for a week disappear overnight. It’s the food that made sure you didn’t bleed out tonight because that stab wound is _deep_ even now when it’s already starting to heal. It’s deep enough to be lethal and you didn’t even notice. You just kept fighting and you should be damn thankful for the Avengers because without that meal you would have bled out. Without that meal you’d have ended up with a half crushed body when you fell from so high. Without that meal you could’ve _died_. So you shut up and eat this burger right now, and hope your injuries heal overnight.”

Peter wants to scream and call bullshit, to push the food back and insist he won’t eat it, to hold Thomas’s eyes and for the first time not to be the one who looks away.

He lasts about thirty seconds.

He stanches the food from his friend’s outstretched hand and tears the wrapping paper, biting into the burger while trying to hold in angry tears.

He doesn’t remember Anndee’s cheeseburgers tasting so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. The longest chap till now, and a kinda sad one. I hope everybody liked it? 
> 
> Please please please review??? I mean it guys I don’t have much time to myself so I decide how much of it to spend writing depending on the comments I get. So please?? PLEASE??????
> 
> (No. The robbers aren’t going to get HIV. He’s not reusing a needle for them all but he’s also not taking it out and changing it. It’ll be explained later (much later) but for now just imagine it’s something like iron man’s new suit Nano-technology. The needle rebuilds itself with a different structure each time, like it’s an entirely different one once he uses it. Nope. Not telling you where he got that technology from. It’ll be explained later~)
> 
> Also Grandmaster… how was he? I’ve read about a total of three fics with him involved so I’m not sure how to exactly write him??? Hopefully it was acceptable??
> 
> The next chapter is going to be a flashback. It’ll be dark and triggering, and one I’m not overly eager to write, so idk when it’ll be done.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making my way downtown~  
> Walking fast~  
> *posts this chapter*  
> FUCKING RUNNING FOR MY LIFE SO I DON’T GET MURDERED- 
> 
> Okay so I probably better warn you: this is nothing like the previous chapters. This is dark and has attempted rape and mentions of child abuse in it. (I repeat it’s attempted rape. It doesn’t actually happen, but still u should probably skip the part when u get to it if ur sensitive because it gets pretty close.)

Peter is eleven years, six months, and ten days old but rounds it up to twelve whenever someone asks. He’s eleven years, six months and ten days old but is often mistaken for being ten. He’s eleven years, six months and ten days old and he’s been on the streets for three weeks.

He’s eleven years, six months, and ten days old and he’s counting the days, the hours, maybe even the _minutes_ till he turns eighteen and can finally get out of this mess. Is counting because there’s no better thing to do. Because it’s either this or going insane. Because it’s either this or going _back_ and he’d sooner die than return to the world of pain he just escaped from.

Peter is eleven years, six months, and ten days old and he’s on the run from CPS because he still has the memories and healing wounds and the lasting echoes of screams calling him the demon child in his ears. Because he still remembers the feeling of being held down as a lit cigarette is pressed to his back; still remembers the bitter, metallic taste of blood in his mouth when biting down on his lip is no longer enough to silence the screams; still remembers the smug expression of his ‘guardian’ when no one believes his words the day he finally decides to tell because there’s no _proof_.

But even more than all that, he remembers having to hold back and take all the abuse because he has the strength of a spider and the ability to crush bones, because he has the (dis)advantage of healing from the most brutal punishments with only a faded scar remaining behind, because he has great power _,_ and with great power comes great responsibility.

(It’s kind of funny, Peter thinks, that no one ever bothered to mention the great pain that tags along too.)

Peter is eleven years, six months, and ten days old, and he’s on the run from both his memories and powers because he doesn’t want to _remember_ anymore.

So Peter _runs_. He ignores his past, turns a blind eye to the scars and pretends the nightmares are still filled with of his family’s death and not painagonyfearpainterror **Pain** ; and buries his powers, the ones he’s had ever since he was a toddler and a radioactive spider his dad sneaked home from work bite him, so deep even he forgets they exist.

It’s not like he needs them really anyway, because even without the super strength and healing factor, he holds his ground pretty well for someone his age. He searches trashcans if he has to and on the darker days, uses his puppy dog eyes on the elderly man at the hot dog stand and fills his stomach with a hot sandwich that burns his tongue and guilt that sets fire to his insides. He doesn’t steal though, because stealing is bad and he promised Aunt May to be good even when she’s gone.

He sleeps out in the open and keeps himself fed about at least one-third of the time and pretends the thin fabric of his black hoodie is enough to keep him warm, and listens to his senses because he learned early on the secret to staying alive:

He _runs_ when this strangely accurate danger alarm in his head goes off.

(He can’t always run though.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~keep reading~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter is cold and hungry and has the world’s loudest banshee shrieking nonstop in his head, and he should be running but isn’t because there’s an iron grip on his arm keeping him in place.

He’s dizzy from lack of food and weakened with fever, and his fingers have gone numb a long time ago, but he’s still fighting; struggling every step of the way because the only still perfectly working part of his body is his Spidey sense, and it’s telling him to get _away_.

And he’s trying. Trying really hard because he knows better than to ignore his instincts by now, but it’s no use.

“Boss! Look what I found!” his captor shouts, tone laden with twisted mirth, “There was a street rat picking through our stuff!”

Peter barely registers the words through the ringing in his ears, senses blinded by the pure panic jumbling his thoughts. His world is very small at the moment, limited to the bruising grip on his wrist and the overwhelming fear and pain inside his mind.

Before he knows, he’s being shoved forward. He stumbles, tripping over his own feet and falling to his knees. He goes to get up but a foot kicks him from behind, making him fall once again and land on all fours. The voices laugh.

“Stay there boy,” the man who dragged him here laughs as he presses down with his foot, putting more of his weight on Peter’s already bruised back. “You’ll have to get back on your knees pretty soon anyway.”

Peter lets out a choking noise as his Spidey sense screams even louder, trying not to collapse under the extra weight. The man laughs, seemingly delighted with the effort it takes the brunet to keep himself standing on trembling limbs,

 “Well, well, well! Look who we have here!” an unfamiliar voice drawls, tone cold and hinted with something Peter can’t identify but doesn’t like. He raises his head to meet the eyes of the newcomer and immediately freezes in the ice of their coldness.

The man –presumably the infamous ‘boss’, blond with a hint of stubbles and a long, faded scar on his forehead-  takes a step closer, seemingly observing Peter from head to toe before a disturbing smile forms on his lips. “Our little thief, finally caught and brought to his place.” He says, leaning down a little and lowering his voice a bit, “on his knees.”

Peter leans back, trying to put as much distance between himself and the man as he possibly can. He doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t this thief they speak of; that, he’s sure about. Hell, Peter hasn’t even stolen from the blind old woman who sometimes sells cupcakes at the park, let alone from a _gang_ , but he doesn’t think trying to convince them this is all a misunderstanding will get him anywhere. 

“I must say,” The man says, turning on his heels and stalking away. If the situation wasn’t so dire, Peter would’ve probably made a joke about him being dramatic much, “I’d planned to have the thief punished severely for even daring to cross our territory, but seeing how the things have turned out… I’m starting to reconsider.” He turns once again, staring straight at him. Peter swallows, avoiding the gaze. He doesn’t like this man. He hates the leer in his voice, dislikes the smirk on his lips, _fears_ the look in his eyes.  

“now normally my men and I aren’t as forgiving toward people who do us wrong,” the man continues, walking forward once again and placing a hand on Peter’s chin to lift his head, “But I guess you could say none of us expected our little thief to look so… lovely.”

Peter jolts, trying to shake off the offending hand, but the grip on his face only tightens, harsh enough to bruise and bring frightened tears to his eyes.

 “I’m willing to offer you a job,” the man whispers, so close Peter can feel his warm breath on his face, “the way you sneaked in our base and stole things without leaving a trace… that’s truly remarkable. We could totally use someone with your skills in our ranks. However, I was thinking of another, more suitable job for you.” He smirks, brushing Peter’s lips with his thumb. Peter wants to gag, “Yes, indeed there are much better things we could use you for.” He murmurs, before once again raising his voice so everyone can hear, “I’m sure you can help out the boys from time to time, but for the most part, I’d like you to work directly _under_ me.”

There are cheers all around, loud whistles and cruel laughs, and although Peter isn’t sure he understands why, he doesn’t like it.

“So?” the man smiles creepily, far too close for comfort, “What do you say?”

Peter chocks back a frightened sob.

“Boss,” the man who’d brought him here snickers, “I don’t think he gets it.”

The men laugh again; a loud, ugly sound that echoes around and makes Peter curl into himself, but it’s the sinister grin on their boss’s lips that makes his whole body go cold. “Well,” he drawls, “Shall we be blunter then?”   

And then he lets go of his face, reaches down, and grabs Peter’s belt; and all the denial Peter managed to convince himself was confusion gives its place to a sudden, paralyzing horror.

He of course saw the sign: the low drawl the man spoke in, the hungry looks, the little touches, but something, call it innocent or stupidity, kept him from accepting their meaning. Now though, with a hand struggling with his belt buckle and his Spidey sense screaming louder than it ever has in his ears, the reality slams into him hard and knocks the air out of his lungs.

Peter does the only thing he can, he _fights back_.

Oh, and does he put up a good fight. He struggles so hard the other men have to get involved to hold him still, punches and kicks and bites with so much force he tastes blood in his mouth, and screams so loud it nearly drowns out the loud screeches of the Spidey sense in his head; but it’s been at least five days since he last ate, and his body is putting as much of a fight against him as he does against the men, moaning about still healing bones and infections and shredded skin that has yet to knit back together, and just _refuses_ to comply.

Soon he’s overpowered, pinned to the ground by at least three men who look more than a little shocked by his strength. The hands keep fumbling with his belt, getting more and more impatient as time goes by. Peter knows from experience how hard it is to get the stubborn buckle to give in, having spent hours cursing the old, worn belt he found at a trashcan, obviously thrown out because it was no longer functioning properly. It’s almost funny, he thinks, how the very thing he hated is now the only barrier between him and getting raped.

Peter sniffs, the thought bringing bitter tears to his eyes. He holds them back and instead _screams_.

Someone pushes a gag inside his mouth.

Peter’s eyes water, his stomach turning at either the thought of what’s happening to him or the foul taste of the dirty cloth shoved inside his mouth. He doesn’t want this.

The boss finally manages to unbuckle the belt, pulling it off and holding it up in the air like a cherished prize, laughing along with his men.

**_Wrong_.**

He throws the belt away, hands once again on Peter as he tries to push down his jeans without lifting him from his pinned down position on the floor.

_This is wrong._

He grabs the edge of his underwear, hands slipping inside and-

_Wrong wrong wrong wrong WRONG._

Peter jerks, body pulsing with all the uncontrolled power and panic and rage he’s been holding in, and the tight bonds holding his inhuman strength inside _shatter_. He pulls his arms free with a sudden jolt, sending the two men holding them down flying, and grabs the offending hand still touching him where he doesn’t want to.

The boss lets out a choking sound, trying to pull his hand away, but Peter holds tight. He pushes himself up on his elbows so he’s half seated, spitting the filthy rag out and dragging his jeans up with his other unoccupied hand. His eyes glint a neon green in the dark of the alley.

The boss looks at him with fearful eyes. “What are you?” he whispers.

Instead of answering, Peter grabs the hand harder, looks him in the eyes, and _squeezes_.

The man _screams_.

Peter’s Spidey sense screams even louder.

Peter snaps his eyes shut, tries to drown out the voices, and keeps squeezing. He feels the bones crush in his hand, snapping one after another with a sickening noise that somehow still echoes around even with all the screaming going on.

He only lets go when the man falls unconscious.

He looks up, unseeing eyes sliding over the still figure leaning on a blood-splattered wall and the other one not too far away from the first, lying on the ground with both his arms bent in unnatural angles, before locking gazes with the rest of the men who were laughing at his torment only minutes ago.

He looks them in the eyes, blood trickling down the wound on his head he got in his struggles to break free and covering the better half of his face, sliding down his cheeks like teardrops and coloring his lips and teeth a feral red.

“Run.” He whispers, and for the first time in his life, everyone complies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~keep reading~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  


Peter is eleven years, six months, and ten days old when he’s mistaken for the thief that’s been stealing from S.N.I gang, he’s eleven years, six months, and ten days old when he’s dragged kicking and screaming to their base only to leave it bloody and bruised half an hour later. He’s eleven years, six months, and ten days old when he very nearly gets _raped_.

Peter is eleven years, six months and ten days old when he crushes a man’s hand and very nearly breaks another two’s backs; he’s eleven years, six months and ten days when word spreads about how his eyes glint a neon green in the dark and shed blood instead of tears; he’s eleven years, six months, and ten days old when he gets dubbed the demon child again.

He’s eleven years, six months, and ten days old when he stumbles out of the old building he was nearly assaulted in and bumps into a gentleman oh his way back to safer areas; eleven years, six months, and ten days old when he uses his sticky fingers for the first time to grab a wallet; eleven years, six months, and ten days when he learns to steal. When he learns promises don’t mean anything. When he learns to be _bad_.

He’s eleven years, six months, and ten days old when he stops counting the days, the months, maybe even the years, because there are other things than his age to keep track of. Much more important things like how many more days he can go without food, like how many hours of sleep he can get on a park bench before someone calls CPS on him, like how far he can stretch the ten dollar bill he found on the ground.

Peter is eleven years, six months, and ten days old when he finally _grows up_.

He grows up because he has to. Because it’s the only way to stay alive. Because he’s living on a battlefield and fighting a war and _refuses_ to go down without a fight. 

He learns to use his resources, to fight dirty, to feel guilt because without it he’d be a bad, bad person, but never let it stop him from doing what’s necessary to _survive_.

He uses every single weapon he’s got to get what he wants, abuses his puppy dog eyes and their powers if it means he’ll get a free meal, uses his young age and innocent appearance to add another layer to the clothes keeping him from freezing to death, and re-learns to smile and shapes his bright eyes into his own personalized weapon to both gain favors and keep people at a safe distance.

He keeps himself fed about half the time and thanks God every day for his unnatural body heat that keeps him warm at night and doesn’t worry about finding a place to sleep because the nightmares keep him awake anyway.

He clings on to life and struggles and fights and makes weapons out of the things that made him weak in the first place, and listens to his senses because he learned early on the secret to staying alive:

He bares his fangs and gets ready for a fight when this dangerously accurate feeling danger alarm in his head goes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry it was so short and depressing, also that it probably wasn’t as good you were expecting, but I’m having something of a hard time right now and did the best I could. Also it was the first time I tried to write something like this so… how did I do? i'd love to know what u think
> 
> I’m NOT abandoning this, but updates gonna be very late because I’m very busy. I go to school at 6:45 a.m. and don’t get home till 9 p.m. for half if not most days. Also I have piles of homework and too many exams. My free time is split between reading for my own pleasure, writing this, and also another fanfic. So yes. Pretty busy guys. Sorry. (and that’s not even considering my horrible mental health right now and the writing blocks.) 
> 
> Please review. Like I said I know this wasn’t the best chapter ever, but I could use anything that would cheer me up right now. I’m sorry if it takes a long time to answer. I’m not home all that much. (and of course since now i have two fics i have to work for, i'll go with the one that more people wanna read so reviewing is kinda like a vote as well!)
> 
> The next chapter we’ll hopefully be back to the old humor writing style :D
> 
> *oh and thank u very much for all the love u give this fic! Ur reviews are one of the few good things that cheer me up *


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